


Won't Go Near You

by FionaFoe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Drinking, F/M, Murder scene, Reader-Insert, Smut, hint of kink, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-20 15:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11923614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FionaFoe/pseuds/FionaFoe
Summary: Getting ready for the funeral your mind kept coming back to him. You sighed as you buttoned your flannel, knowing he was bound to be there. Probably still his devilishly handsome, brooding self. After all, he had been Greg’s friend long before you’d met either of them. And now Greg was dead, gone to that eternal hunting ground in the sky, and you had to face John Winchester again.Reader is an old flame of John’s, and to say their parting of ways was messy would be the least. But now she has to face him again and promise herself to not go near him.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta for this part: @kittenofdoomage

Getting ready for the funeral your mind kept coming back to him. You sighed as you buttoned your flannel, knowing he was bound to be there. Probably still his devilishly handsome, brooding self. After all, he had been Greg’s friend long before you’d met either of them. And now Greg was dead, gone to that eternal hunting ground in the sky, and you had to face John Winchester again. **  
**

In fact it had been through John that you’d met Greg. You had been out having a celebratory post-hunt drink with John in a hole in the wall bar in West Virginia, when you’d bumped into him. You remembered the encounter vividly because it had been there, in that smelly, seedy bar John had introduced you to someone as his girlfriend for the first time, not just as a colleague. It was so weird thinking back on it now, the butterflies you’d felt as he said the word, the shock of actually hearing it in his low voice. You’d always gotten the feeling he was ashamed of the big age difference between the two of you. He was technically old enough to be your father, and now you were openly his girlfriend. You’d of course known that that was what your hunt-and-fuck partnership had grown into, but nevertheless it had been a shocker hearing him say it.

Greg had become a friend to you as well after that. He was automatically suspicious of new people, but you having the stamp of approval from John had him warm up to you instantly. And even after your relationship with John, both romantic and professional, crashed and burned, he’d still been a good friend to you. More than once you’d even hunted with Greg and seen first hand the kinda skill which had made him a legend in the community. How a lowly vampire had gotten the better of him, you would never understand.

You weren’t sure how you felt about the prospect of seeing John again. On one hand you wanted to see him and give him a big hug, you wanted to hold him and let the sense of security he’d always radiated wash over you again. Especially now you were in mourning. And of course he would be in mourning too and it would feel good to comfort him and help him through it.

On the other hand you were scared of what it might stir up. When John had left you’d hit a low. It had been sudden and you hadn’t been sure why he’d decided it was time to end it. He went on about demons and you being in danger being so close to him and him already having to protect his boys. He’d rambled about Sam leaving for college soon and how he’d have to travel cross country to make sure he was fine. You’d tried saying you were fine with it and that you’d come along, but it was no use. In the end he’d just gotten in his truck and left, you standing there alone not sure of how to feel with your car keys dangling in your hand and tears starting to fall.

You had made a promise to yourself that you’d never fall back under the Winchester spell. You’d never get as close to happiness as you had with John, it was destined to come crashing down on you. How many hunters did you know who had happy long term relationships where no one ended up being left behind, or dead? None… You were sure there wasn’t a woman on earth who could make John stay put, who possessed the qualities to make him forget the past. And you could only assume that was what made him who he was. He had his cross to bear, and he couldn’t give up on that. It made him who he was.

The weeks and months following the breakup had been hard and you hadn’t gotten through it if it hadn’t been for your friends, like Greg. That’s why you had to go, no matter how you felt about John. You owed it to Greg and the ones he’d left behind to go to his funeral.

***

You walked into the hunting cabin, floorboards creaking under your boost. It was bigger than most you’d been to. You looked around the room, at least thirty or so people had shown up to honour Greg, so the space was a bit cramped, but still your eyes were drawn to John almost instantly. Towering over many of them he looked mostly the same, a bit scruffier maybe, having added a beard to his look. The past few years had been good to him, given his pepper hair a pinch of salt. And that was all right with you, John’s age had been more of a pro than a con when you’d first let him into your pants.

Back then you’d been young and rootless, just past 21 without much of a fear of dying on the job. John had taken you under his wing, recognising your skill for hunting and helped you further it. He’d shown you every trick in the book and you’d been eager to learn. After about a month of hunting and drinking together it was you who had suggested a post-hunt fuck was in order, and he had been more than willing to go along with it. He took you with the animal force only an older man could, his years of experience giving him an upper hand to any young guy you’d ever been with. And he kept it up pretty much every night after that.

And now he stood there, still the most attractive man you’d ever been with, neat whiskey in his calloused hand, no doubt sharing a war story with the hunter he was chatting to. You found it hard to look away from him, he had never had any trouble getting attention from the ladies. Six feet plus tall, broad manly shoulders, battle scars and that leather jacket he always wore. It reminded you of the old days, the smell of the worn leather and the way it felt between your dainty fingertips as you tugged at it to pull him closer, or tear it off him.

And then the inevitable happened, John turned his head and looked straight into your eyes. His hazel eyes smiled when he realized just who he was locking eyes with and you knew you had no choice but to go over there and say hi. You swallowed hard and made your way over, wishing all the way like you’d thought of something amazing and brazen to say before you’d even turned up.

“Hi, Y/N,” John leaned in for a hug, “you okay?”

Your pulse sped up as he closed the gap between your bodies. And then that cheek met yours and you senses were sent into high alert. The roughness of his beard against your soft skin practically made your toes curl as the smell of him teased at your nostrils, adding that familiar sensation of gun oil, cologne and scotch into the mix. You had hoped to avoid this exact feeling tonight, pure want and hunger. You were here to honour an old friend, not remake an old mistake. Fuck him and his fucking sex appeal.

“I’m fine,” you replied as you let him hug you for the shortest acceptable time and backed away, “How are you, Winchester?”

“Okay, under the circumstances. Greg was a good man, and a better hunter,” John sighed.

“Can I get you a drink?” The hunter John had been talking to asked you. You didn’t know him, but he had  grey eyes and baseball cap, and a warm presence about him.

“Thanks, whiskey, neat,” you smiled at the man and he left you alone with John to catch up.

A few seconds of silence passed, but they felt like a lifetime.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you croaked, desperate to end the awkwardness.

“And I’m sorry for yours,” John smiled warmly, “I know you were close, Greg kept me up to speed on you, on how you were doing.”

“He never told me that,” you replied, baffled by this new information.

“Yeah, I told him not to. Better you didn’t know I was keeping tabs,” John smirked, “knew your feelings towards me were a little… unfriendly, after I left.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You had no intention of getting into that now; this was not the time or the place for that conversation.

“Well, It’s nice to see you,” John tried, “despite the circumstances of course.”

Another awkward silence followed as you waited for your drink. There were a million things you wanted to say to John, about how you’d left it and about exciting hunts you’d gone on for the past few years, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. And the fact that it was nice to see him as well, how it made you feel, you’d rather die than give up that little tidbit of information.

When the stranger finally reappeared with your drink in his hand, the tension in the air eased a little. You took the drink to your lips in an instant and let the sweet burn of the whiskey wash over you. Hopefully it would numb you a little.

“So how’d you know Greg, and John?” The stranger smiled at you with kind grey eyes.

“Oh, we used to hunt together, not all of us at once, but I travelled with John and then I took the odd job with Greg after that.”

“Weird we haven’t met then,” he shot you a puzzled look, “me and John go far back, all the way back almost.”

He reached his hand out to you.

“I’m Bobby Singer.”

You took his hand.

“Y/N,” you answered with a smile.

A knowing, bewildered look stuck him. As if he’d heard a million stories about you, but you were nothing like he’d expected.

“Oh,” he said, “nice to finally meet you.”

And that was just about all the reminder of your time with John you could take. You didn’t want to imagine all the things John must have told him about you, professionally or otherwise. You excused yourself saying you wanted to make the rounds and walked away. It was time to burn the body soon so there was no need for you to stay much longer.

***

Funerals sucked. With the body turned to warm ash and tears pushing at your eyes, you turned to leave. One of the true great hunters were gone for good and you could feel the pain like an anvil on your chest, threatening your steady breathing. But you were stopped dead in your tracks by a big, strong hand on your shoulder, forcing you to turn. And of course it was John. He looked at you with concern in his eyes, no doubt having seen the state you were in emotionally.

“I wanna talk to you, Y/N,” he offered up a half smile.

“What can possibly be left to say, John,” you hissed at him, “I’ve had just about all the Winchester I can handle today, you talking to me like everything’s fine. I came, I played nice and now I’m gonna go before I can get in a fight with you.”

“Please, Y/N, let’s go somewhere,” he pleaded, “just give me a little time, I wanna explain some stuff, but not here.”

You weren’t sure how you felt about it. You kept confusing yourself. You wanted to kill him and fuck him at the same time. You wanted to ask him to take you back and then scream at him to leave you alone. Being alone with John in you fragile state could go one of two ways; either you’d enter a screaming match or you’d take your frustration at the years apart out between the sheets. Public space, that was the way to go.

“We’ll go for a drink down the highway,” you merely informed him and gave him no time to argue. “Follow me in your truck.”

You turned back around and marched out. This was sure as hell gonna be interesting…


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader goes for a drink with John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta for this part: @mamapeterson

Heading down the highway in your car, you could see John’s huge black truck tailing you in the rear view mirror. That monster of a vehicle loomed behind you, just close enough for you to see the outline of his face. You had to focus very hard at keeping your eyes glued at the stretch of road ahead of you, something at the back of your mind urging you to take a peek at the man behind you.

Finally, you pulled up in the parking lot of a shady looking bar. The dust danced around your car as you gracefully parked it between two old muscle cars. You stepped out just as John had found a space big enough to park his truck, passenger side tires hiding the yellow parking line completely. Without waiting for him, you strode into the dimly lit room, smelling of stale beer and cigarette smoke,  and made your way to the bar, your boots slightly sticking to the floor as you went. You needed a stiff drink for this meeting, and fast. You ordered your usual, neat Johnny red, before making your way to a free table, trying to ignore the eyes sticking to your back side in the male dominated room. John soon followed, making his way into the room, the daylight seeping in from the doorway  causing his tall, broad form to cast an impressive shadow on the worn, wooden floors. He ordered his usual, Johnny black, as it had always been, and joined your tensed self at the table.

“Out with it,” you said matter of factly, taking a sip of whiskey, trying to conceal how riled up he had you. “What do you have to say?”

John took a swig of his glass and felt the whiskey around in his mouth before he swallowed and opened his mouth to respond.

“I need your help, Y/N.”

“My help? Mr big, strong, hunting-marine needs my help?” You answered dryly, that was rich, even for him. John Winchester admitting he needed help, and from you. How could he possibly believe you would help him?

“I wanna find this vamp and cut its damned head off,” his tone was cold, calculated. “It’s gotta be strong as hell, taking Greg out like that. And you, sunshine, you’re one of the best hunters I’ve ever worked with.”

That bastard, thinking he could win you over with praise.

“Out of all the bad ideas you’ve ever had John, this one is pretty damn far up there,” you spat back. “However, the only thing you’re right about is that I’m damned good. That’s why you should take some senior days and I’ll do this on my own. I do not need help.”

“I know you want nothing to do with me, but a good man is dead. We both cared enough for Greg to give this our best shot. And that means doing it together.” He sighed before continuing, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen too many good men die…”

You met his eye, the tremble of his voice striking a chord with you, they were clear as crystal. John Winchester, the toughest man you had ever known, was hurting. It was hard seeing him like this. Somewhere beneath all the anger and pain you still cared for him, no matter how much you wish you didn’t.

You reached across the table, offering your hand to him, wanting to comfort him in some way. He accepted your small gesture of compassion, catching your smaller hand in his, his calloused skin rough against your sensitive skin. He closed his hand around your dainty fingers, and you felt the tiny scars in his palm. It was warm and comforting, and made you feel better somehow, like maybe you’d be able to smile today after all.

 

 

“You made me really happy for a while, Y/N,” his voice was reduced to a low rumble, his rough thumb grazed your knuckles softly. “I hope you never doubted that.”

You snapped your hand back, not believing your ears. How dared he? This had been exactly why you’d resisted getting close to him. Your hand may have made you feel things too, but it was not an invitation for him to drag the past up again.

“Do not get into this with me today, John,” you barked, turning a few heads in the process. “This kinda thing is exactly why we can’t go on the road together again!”

“Y/N, please lower your voice,” he hissed, eyes darting around the small room. “We can talk about this, agree on some terms.”

“No way,” you had had it with him. “We are gonna decide who gets this hunt and then we are leaving this bar, separately.”

“Y/N,” he started again, but you had reached the end of your patience.

You dug a coin out from your wallet.

“Heads, the hunt is mine, tails, you get to go kill the damned thing.”

It was a statement more than a question and in three seconds flat you tossed the coin in the air and caught it, you gave him one look of this is it, before you slammed it on the table.

Heads. Served him right.

“There you have it,” you stated, downing your drink and gathering your things. “I’ll send word when the bastard’s dead. Bye John.”

You didn’t give him time to argue before you marched out, leaving John stunned in absence.

***

Even though you’d been on the hunt two days, and managed to put as many states between John Winchester and yourself, you still couldn’t get him out of your head. You’d catch a glimpse of a man slightly resembling him in the corner of your eye or hear a song which reminded you of your days together on the radio, and in a flash, all of your conflicting emotions came bubbling back up to the surface.

The job helped a bit. You’d learned some disturbing things. Apparently, yet another hunter, a woman this time, had fallen prey to the vampire and the community was shaken once again. You hadn’t known the huntress yourself, but heard she was great at what she did.

You’d made your way to the grisly scene of the kill. It had all happened in her motel room, which was technically still an active crime scene, but you’d gained access to it by slipping the housekeeper a twenty. The room was trashed; broken pieces of furniture spread across the room, coagulated blood splattered on the walls and floors.

“Apparently, the perv used the leg of the kitchenette chair to do her in,” the maid whispered, horror in her voice, as she was waiting for you to finish up so she could lock up. “Can you imagine going out like that?”

You shivered almost violently. It could just as easily have been you. She was on the same mission as you, in the same town, she’d just gotten a little closer to the kill than you.

“Poor girl,” you whispered back.

“With all the weapons the cops dragged outta here, you’d think she’d been able to protect herself.”

You went through the room looking for any clues the cops hadn’t ruined, but you learned nothing, well besides the fact that you might have gotten in a bit over your head. What you needed now was a long warm shower. You needed to wash this hell hole off you.

***

Fresh and clean, you sat down on the bed hoping to gather your muddled mind. You needed a solid plan of action. Would he have moved on? Probably. He ought to know that by now he had killed just enough hunters to bring the full force of the community down on his head. You figured you weren’t the only one trying to seek this bastard out. Did he even care though? For all you knew, he preferred the blood of hunters.

You lay back on the bed and took a deep breath. Fuck, you needed some sleep. Your rhythm was all off, it was barely 5 pm. You closed your eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over you.

And then you heard it. A tiny click. Your eyes shot open. Another click. Someone was picking your lock. And you were weaponless, just having thrown you clothes back on post shower.

You hurried off the bed, crawling under it just in the knick of time.

The door creaked open, and heavy footsteps made their way into the room, before their owner slammed the door shut.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader is on the hunt, but in for a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: @mamapeterson

You held your breath, trying your hardest not to attract the attention of whatever it was that had just walked through the door. You saw a big, looming shadow move around the room from your rushed hiding place underneath the bed. Heavy, shuffling footsteps made their way around the room, and you heard their owner rummage through drawers, cupboards, and closets. If only you’d had your gun, knife, or even your holy water. Though, if this was who you feared it might be, none of those things would have done much good. The only thing that might have helped you would be a machete or a good dose of dead man’s blood.  
  
The fear-inducing steps grew closer, making the hair stand on the back of your neck, and soon you could see big, no doubt male, boot-clad feet make their way right towards you.

You knew those boots from somewhere. The man sat down on the bed, its springs complaining at the added weight of his form. He sighed audibly. You knew that sigh, too. You’d been at the receiving end of that disappointed sigh more than a few times.

John fucking Winchester, that son of a bitch. Picking your lock? Even for him, that was low.   
  
For a split second you contemplated staying hidden, wait for him to leave. But alas, that would be too cruel a thing to do, even to him. You crawled out from under the bed, behind him, as silently as you possibly could, dust bunnies clinging to your jeans and t-shirt. You felt far less fresh and clean than you had mere minutes before.  
  
John was a sorry sight. The living legend in front of you sat heavy on the bed, his head in his hands, shoulders bowed, his breathing low and heavy.

You decided to put him out of his misery.  
  
“You picked my fucking lock?” You growled at him, giving no attempt at hiding the disgust in your voice.  
  
He snapped his head around towards you from where he sat on the bed, and you finally saw the worry across his furrowed brow. He’d worried… for you. You put the pieces together in a flash. Dead huntress on the trail of the vamp. You out there on your own. It was no wonder his mind had gone there. The pain marring his handsome features stung your heart for a second, but you shook it off, clutching your anger tight. If he felt the pain of thinking you were gone, you couldn’t take it upon yourself to care, you’d mourned the relationship when he’d left you. He cut all ties and you’d had to mourn him. Somehow, it seemed only fitting for him to feel a tiny bit of that right now.  
  
“The guy at the desk told me you’d disappeared,” there was more air in his voice than you were used to. “I heard that son of a bitch got another hunter, I had to check up on you…”  
  
“I pay extra for that kind of privacy, John.” Much to your annoyance you couldn’t help but feel a bit flattered at his worry. “Thought your memory was better than this.“  
  
He offered up a crooked smile. Although you felt a streak of annoying delight at him caring, you weren’t flattered enough to return it. In truth, you still wanted him as far away from you as possible. It was safer that way, on a strictly emotional level.  
  
"Well, as you no doubt can tell, I’m obviously fine and more than able to look after myself,” you spat at him. “So it’s time you got going.”  
  
“Not gonna happen, sweetheart,” he said with that annoyingly caring tone he had. He stood up and crossed his arms at you, asking “Why would you risk getting caught off guard and unarmed?”  
  
“What are you talking about? For your information I just got dressed and you can’t hijack my fucking hunt,” fury burned in your chest, coating your words. “I won this job fair and square, Winchester!”  
  
“Listen, this clearly ain’t no ordinary bloodsucker,” his voice grew deeper, turning into that commanding tone you knew all too well. “It’s already killed at least two professionals, no way you’re flyin’ solo on this one.”  
  
The nerve of him! He couldn’t force you to take his help. No way.  
  
“That is not your decision to make, John!” You couldn’t call what you were doing talking anymore, it was too loud for that.  
  
“I’m making it anyways,” he didn’t raise his voice at you. He was, however, doing the only thing which was worse, he had found his firm, commanding tone.

He was nothing if not a stubborn bastard. You were fuming mad, you wouldn’t have been at all surprised if there was actual smoke coming out of your ears. While part of you wanted to storm out, the other part of you wanted to use his face as a punching bag, and then there was that last little crumb of your being which wanted something else entirely…  
  
“I know that look,” he murmured, and you hoped he couldn’t spot that flicker of arousal going through you. “You’re this mad ‘cause you know I’m right?”  
  


If you’d had a drink in your hand, you’d thrown it at him. Or at yourself. You were not feeling especially happy with your libido at that particular moment either.

 

“I’m mad 'cause you can’t just walk in here, no wait, _break_ in here, and force me to work with you! There are literally tens of hunters I could call to help me out, that I’d much rather work with than you! I don’t care that you’re good or smart. You could be the greatest fucking hunter in the world and I still wouldn’t want to be locked into a hunt with you! You left and you don’t get to decide when it’s okay for you to come marching back into my life! You crushed every bit of what we had into dust and then you didn’t send word for a year! And now, now that I’m already feeling low as shit, you want to work with me!? Fuck you! That’s not fair!” Tears painfully pricked your eyes so you clenched your jaw and tried to stabilize your breathing. Now you were  sure you felt like punching him, every damn time he got into a room with you, he managed to make you fire on all cylinders.   
  
Your rant seemed to have shocked him, leaving him looking baffled. His thick brows crept into his hairline, and you weren’t completely sure, but was that hurt flickering in his eyes?

  
"You know I didn’t mean to impose.”  
  
“Bullshit.” You weren’t quite ready to let your anger go.

 

"Hey, I want this sucker dead as much as you do. You can doubt everything else, but not that. I want to avenge our friend, too, and I swear it’ll be all business. We won’t have to talk about anything but the hunt. We won’t have to have a drink together, eat a meal together, nothin’. You’ll call the shots,” he pleaded, and you couldn’t deny the sincerity in his voice. “Just please, let me help out.”

Looking into his hazel eyes, seeing the concern and desperation resting there, you didn’t know what to say. On the one hand you knew working with him would most likely send you on an emotional rollercoaster ride you weren’t ready for. He just had that effect on you. Even now, as you stared at him, you could feel that slight tingle in your gut telling you to give him a chance, telling you to give in to the familiar comfort of John. The memory of how his hugs and your hand in his felt washed over you. But the anger still very much rolled through you.

“I’ll give it a try.” You dropped down on the bed, your back to him, shielding your face from the look he was sending you over his shoulder. “But if you get on my nerves, I swear to God I’ll split in a heartbeat.”

“That’s more than fair, sweetheart,” his voice, and that familiar term of endearment, was like music to your ears. You felt warmth spread through you, thinking of when you truly were his sweetheart, his babe, his princess. It had to stop.

“None of that,” you snapped, standing abruptly and started to pack your belongings. “Rule number one is I’m not your sweetheart.”

“Got it, old habits you know, won’t happen again.” He stood as well, waiting for you to finish up. “Remember the hunter I introduced you to at the funeral? What do you say we leave one car at Bobby’s? It’ll be more efficient if only one of us has to be awake and drive.”

You tried to poke holes in his logic. You might not have been thrilled at the prospect of being in a car with John for the whole damned hunt, but efficiency meant it might be over faster and you could part ways that much sooner. What made you even less thrilled was that you knew John’s truck was best suited for this type of job. He had the best weapon storage system in the back of that thing and in addition you couldn’t deny the practicality of a truck bed when being on a hunt.

“Is Bobby’s far from here?” You threw your dirty clothes in a bag, before putting it in your bag.

“About two hours west.”

“Fine, we’ll stash my car there,” you breathed. You didn’t dare look at him, as if you’d feel less like you’d lost by not giving him the satisfaction of meeting his smiling eyes. “I know your truck’s the best choice.”

You finished gathering your things; weapons, toiletries, and clothes. Signaling your readiness, you threw your bag over your shoulder.

“Ready?” He asked, following your every movement with dark brown eyes.

“I’ll follow you,” was all you said before you marched out the door, feeling his eyes on you as you went.

Tailing John in your car, you had the sinking feeling that you might have been about to make one of the biggest mistakes of your life. But at the very least you couldn’t imagine the vamp being able to get the better of the two of you together. And in the end you hoped getting your revenge would be worth it…


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader and John go to see Bobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: @mamapeterson

Rolling along the highway, you followed John as the sun started to set, washing the sky in what seemed like a million shades of red, the clouds that scattered across the horizon were tainted pink as the night threatened its arrival. It was just light enough as you took off from the highway and pulled up to the lot that you could make out the sign before you passed under it, _Singer’s Auto Salvage_. 

As you passed through the gates, you had a hard time imagining someone actually living there.The state of the sign gave no guarantee this place still took in new cars. Not that you were an expert on what a salvage yard should look like, but it was a mess of cars, parts, and tires like you’d never seen. And as you followed John to the house, and parked your car next to his, you noticed it was in desperate need of a new coat, its grayish-blue paint peeling off its walls. Hubcaps decorated the exterior walls, and in a strange way it worked, it made the derelict yard feel cozier, homier.

You stepped out, breathing in the smell of rust and auto oil, making your first salvage yard experience complete. You walked up to the screen door two steps behind John. He knocked. Once. Twice. At John’s third knock you heard heavy footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. It creaked open, letting its owner know it needed some oil, and the friendly face you’d met at Greg’s funeral smiled at the realization that, at least this time, it was friends seeking him out. However, he had come prepared, a no doubt loaded shotgun resting against his leg and a hip flask quickly appeared from his vest pocket.

“Sorry, Bobby, I shoulda called,” John apologized, nodding at the firearm.

Despite his smile, Bobby still didn’t completely believe that it, indeed was his old friend who was standing in front of him. Without speaking a word, he splashed water at John’s hand.

“Yeah, that would’ve been better,” Bobby grunted and closed the flask. “You vouching for her bein’ who she’s supposed to be?”

“She’s herself alright,” John chuckled.

You scoffed at his attempted wit.

“Nice to see you again.” You smiled at Bobby, looking straight around John, making pretty damn sure he could tell the smile wasn’t meant for him.

“Well, don’t just stand out there like idjits.” He took a few steps into the house and offered an invitation, “come in.”

Bobby lead you both into a dimly lit hallway, there was a stairway leading to the second floor of his house and books and papers filling every surface you could spot. Through the doorway you walked into what seemed to serve as both Bobby’s living room and study. It was cosy with deep red wallpaper. Dim lighting seemed to be the running theme throughout the house. There was not one, but two desks, a couch, shelves filled with even more books and papers, and an assortment of wooden chairs, some of them also stacked with books. So Bobby liked to read, a lot. He was probably a walking encyclopedia of monsters.

“I doubt you two drove all the way here from wherever it is you’re holdin’ up just to see me, so out with it. Whatcha’ huntin’?” Bobby took a seat at the deep brown desk, searching you both with his eyes.

“We came to stash Y/N’s car here for a few weeks, or more -” John began.

“-or less…” you interrupted.

“If it’s alright with you of course,” he said the last part as more of a consideration to your host. Clearly there was no chance Bobby would deny his request.

“Of course,” Bobby said before he continued, “now would you stop bein’ so damned stubborn, Winchester, and tell me which hunt has the two of you hittin’ the road together?”

“Vampire,” John sighed, planting himself in Bobby’s couch. “The bastard who managed to kill Greg.”

Silence followed, and then the clinking of glass. Without saying a word Bobby poured you all a hearty amount of whiskey. He handed a glass to John and you before he pulled you up a chair from the room’s spare desk. You sat down and took a swig of your glass. The sweet burn of the whiskey was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Bobby leant back on his desk and took a good mouthful before he open his mouth to speak.

“Well, fuck,” Bobby stopped and took another swig. “Can’t be no ordinary vamp. You guys are prepared for that, right?”

“If it was, I’d do it by myself,” you spoke for the first time since entering the house, it came out a little hoarse, the whiskey wreaking havoc on your vocal chords.

John shifted on the couch, and Bobby swirled a tiny malestream in his glass.

“And Dean?” Bobby coughed up, avoiding John’s eyes.

“He’s fine,”John said, a bit forcefully in your opinion. “He’s got his own hunts to worry about these days. Time he came more into his as a hunter, since Sam left…”

You hadn’t even thought to ask John about the boys. It had never been something you’d spoken a lot about, but it had completely slipped your mind. You didn’t even know Sam had left. The realisation sank in. John’s boys had gone off on their own. Did he need you more than he let on?

“Well, I’ll keep my ear to the ground for both you and him,” Bobby smiled. “I’ll give you a holler if I hear chatter about this vamp. So where are you headed?”

“Thought we’d travel west,” John said, leaning back, relaxing his posture a little. “Got word of some drained corpses in Idaho.”

“That’s a long drive you got ahead of you. You can crash here tonight if you wanna.” Bobby smiled at you.

“Sorry, Bobby, ‘nother time. We’re racing the clock on this one.” You downed the rest of your whiskey and stood, “Thank you so much though.”

“Guess we’re going,” John downed his drink as well and stood. “She’s calling the shots you see, I’m just the muscle.” John chuckled at his own joke and Bobby reciprocated.

“I’m perfectly capable of being my own muscle, thank you very much,” you replied matter of factly. “Don’t be mistaken, John, you’re on this job ‘cause you’re too damn stubborn to argue with.”

You walked towards the door and both men followed. Once outside, you made your way across the dirt road leading up to the house, to John’s truck. It was safe to say that it had been a while since you’d stepped into that thing, or rather, since the day you’d stepped out of if for the last time.

As John unlocked the doors, Bobby stayed in the doorway seeing you off. After opening the huge black door at the passenger’s side, you quite literally had to hoist yourself up. It came so natural, and no wonder, you’d done it a thousand times before. The first month of your partnership you’d struggled with the height of John’s truck, having to climb in like some sort of child, but then you’d gotten the hang of hoisting yourself.

Once in the familiar bench seat, you felt the hairs on your arms stand, it was eerie being in there again. And it all got so much worse as John jumped in the driver’s seat. Once the two of you were sitting next to each other in the cabin it was practically buzzing with the memory of old sin. You took a deep breath through your nose, but quickly regretted it. The proximity to John causing the scent of him to course through your body, making the memories more vivid still. He turned the ignition and you fastened your seat belt. It was sure as hell gonna be a bumpy ride.


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road with John things are about to get complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: @mamapeterson

You’d been right. You could cut the tension in the cabin with a knife, but it was all your fault. You’d stared out the window, watching as the sky grew pitch black, and any attempt from John to relieve the tension you created was met by either a grunt, a sigh, a scoff, or a one word response from you. He’d tried lightening it with talk of the hunt, but you weren’t ready to talk just yet. You had a destination and that was pretty much it, not much to talk about. He’d kept trying however, your muteness not seeming to affect his mood. He was so optimistic, you had to work hard at holding on to your annoyance of being stuck in the car with him.

You’d let two whole hours pass before you said anything of actual substance.

“We need to eat,” you kept your gaze fixed at the passing darkness outside your window. “It’s getting pretty damned late and without any sustenance, driving through the night just won’t do.”

“So then I guess we’re having a meal together?” John smirked, his words like waves, charm rolling off those perfect lips.

You tried to avoid looking at his reflection in your window, in fact you worked your very hardest at focusing on the darkness outside, but of course not even your strong will and anger could control the play of light and dark, creating a near mirror clear reflection of John’s profile on the smooth glass. You had never been able to fool your senses into thinking he wasn’t attractive, you weren’t blind… His authoritative brow melted into the straight bridge of his nose, such a perfect transition it could have been cut in marble. And further down those deliciously kissable lips, let’s not get started on his chin! John had that rare mix of beauty, ruggedness, and pure manly energy. No wonder you were confused…

You had no choice, you had to tear your eyes away.

“Calm down Winchester,” you growled, halfway playfully, digging around in your bag desperate for something to occupy your eyes. “We’re having a meal _next to_ each other.”

He chuckled, that hearty, rich chuckle he’d never lost, not even with all the shit he’d been through. You had to admit you’d always admired him for that, the way he still had that remarkably comfortable feel about him. Have no doubt, he could be scary when he needed to, as well as strict and commanding, but there was also this warm, sincere side to him. He didn’t share that with too many people. His mood was no doubt contagious, both when it was bad and when it was good, like now.

***

About half an hour down the highway, John pulled the truck up to a roadside diner. You’d let the time pass in silence, your nose buried in a particularly dry book about vampires, it’s dated, old fashioned prose making it clear to you how tired you actually were.

Stepping out of the truck, the cold breeze brushed your skin helping you wake up a bit as your boots hit the gravel. In the dark night the little diner, with its windows washing the parking lot in warm light, looked homey and inviting. And safely inside the feeling still stuck. Your shoulders sank, your pulse dropped, you were finally able to relax. You had spent so many years on the road as a child being dragged on hunts, diners like this felt like coming into your childhood home.

You slid into a booth together, John opposite you, and when you’d made your order the conversation started flowing, much to your surprise. Your mood was definitely on its way up with John’s.

You ordered, you ate, you actually talked. It was nice, too, it felt like the old days. The two of you, in a booth, on a hunt, in the middle of nowhere. You’d been at your best when you had a tough case to crack, when you’d been busy enough for John’s demons to be drowned out. When he’d forget how broken his life was, how far it was from what he’d planned and expected for a few days. For you the life had felt different, natural. You’d grown up around hunters, it was the only life you knew.

“So, what now?” John asked as you’d paid the bill and got ready to leave.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I need some shut eye.” As if on cue, you yawned. You’d been thinking you would sleep on the road, but you ought to have known that would never work. You hated sleeping sitting up.

“Not planning on driving through the night anymore?” John asked.

“Too tired…” another yawn escaped your lips.

“So, what are you suggesting?” John slid into his army green jacket. “If memory serves me right, you never were one to sleep easily in a car.”

“We’ll sleep at the next motel we pass.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement, and you had no intention of explaining yourself further.

You walked out and hopped back in the truck, and John followed.

***

You’d taken care of paying for the room as John pulled your stuff out of the car, and in addition, taken a healthy selection of weapons from his safe box at the back of the truck bed. Coming back out from the office you found your room, John coming up behind you, letting you lead the way.

You stepped in the dull room, taking in the absolute lack of aesthetic stimuli.

“You sure this is okay?” he asked, barely stepping a foot in after you. Rather he hung around the doorway, a quizzical expression on his face.

“Will you close the door? You’re letting out the little bit of heat in this joint,” you ordered in return.

You saw him mulling your request over, not sure whether this meant you wanted him to go get another room, or stay in this one with you.

“Get in here already,” you complained, kicking your boots off and wiggling your toes on the carpet floor, trying not to think about how dirty it might be between the strands of synthetic wool.

He did as you asked. Closing the door behind him, he walked in the dull room, removed his jacket and boots, and fell onto the couch. He stretched his long, well-built form and yawned, his burly chest rising, stretching at the fabric of his t-shirt. Your mind went _there_. Of course it did. You were not immune to the implication of being alone in a motel room with John. Especially not when he let those muscles play at his clothes like that, but just because your mind was weak didn’t mean you had to be… You shook the idea of what he could use those muscles to do to you and went with a tone of mocking friendliness, as opposed to screaming at him to take right then and there.

“You’re not even gonna fight me for the bed, Winchester?” You snickered at him and jumped onto the bed.

“Fight you?” He growled mockingly, stretching his arms and closing his eyes in a yawn. “I wouldn’t dream of it!”

You picked up a pillow from the queen bed and threw it at him, it hit him right in the face.

“Cheeky bastard.” You chuckled.

“Behave yourself, young lady,” he said. The deep tremble of his voice sending vibrations through you, and with those four words he once again tore down your defenses. “Let an old man get some sleep already.”

“Fine…” you sighed, “Guess your generation needs some extra beauty sleep, to make sure that hair doesn’t get more salt than pepper.”

“Good night, kid,” he chuckled.

“Night, sir,” you smirked, your pulse speeding up.

There was a definite spark in John’s eye at your words. He furrowed his brow, searching your face, as if looking for a sign of a bluff. Your breathing grew ragged, you felt your face flush. Had you woken the beast in him? Were you ready for this?

Why had you called him that? What did you really hope to accomplish? On one hand you simply wanted to call him old, and than there was the fact that you’d called him that on multiple, not so innocent, occasions. You guessed you wanted him to wonder, wanted his mind to go there too. Damn that libido of yours, if you were just a little bit braver, a little less scared of getting hurt again, you’d ask him to climb in next to you. You’d ask him to hold you. You’d ask him to make you feel all those things you knew he could make you feel. You knew all too well he could make you a whimpering, begging mess if you let him.

The air in the motel room grew thick, buzzing with unresolved tension. In the end, he seemed to get it together. He smiled wickedly at you, put the pillow you’d thrown under his head and turned his back to you, working to get comfy on the old couch.

You didn’t know to feel. Relieved or disappointed that he hadn’t followed up on your ambiguity, but there had been nothing more to it. You flicked the lights out and closed your eyes, listening to his breathing as you dozed off into a deep sleep.


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: @thing-you-do-with-that-thing and @mamapeterson

Mouth dry, head aching, you woke up on top of the covers in the stale motel room. There had to be something wrong with the ventilation system, you thought. And with the heating. Not creeping in beneath the covers last night had been a mistake. You were cold, even though you’d fallen asleep fully dressed. You had to blink a few times to trigger your memory before you recalled where you were. And who you were with… At some point you had turned over on your side, your back to the man sharing the room with you, still sleeping heavily on the couch.

You turned towards him, the light creeping in between the crooked blinds slightly blinding you as you tried looking at him. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, cradled in the delicate morning light. It was almost ethereal. Quite frankly it was hard to believe that someone who could look this gorgeous and relaxed could be carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders, as John was. You wouldn’t wish the turmoil, grief and heartache John had faced on your worst enemy. Just thinking about it made your stomach twist.

You wondered if you’d been too hard on him. His decision to leave hadn’t been all about you. And on a purely intellectual level you’d known that, of course. But your heart didn’t function on a purely intellectual level. If it did you wouldn’t be feeling so darned conflicted. At any given moment your mind was traveling a million miles an hour, going through so many events which could or couldn’t occur. Like last night…

You’d wanted him to pay you a little attention. You’d wanted him to entertain the idea of the two of you falling back into the same old pattern. You wanted him to want, even though you weren’t sure you were ready for what that would entail.

It hurt. Not just that he hadn’t pursued it, but thinking of the baggage he carried with him, not allowing him to move on. And you, not being enough for him to shake it off. You knew it was selfish, again, on an intellectual level. But your heart…

You stood. Needing to clean your face of yesterday’s make-up, you tiptoed across the room and silently closed the bathroom door behind you, so as not to wake John. Resting your hands on the sink you stared at your sorry reflection in the mirror. Last night’s makeup didn’t look good on anyone. You turned the water on and splashed it on your face. It felt good, seemingly clearing your head as well as your face. Patting yourself dry you decided to stop being so fucking silly. John was there to help with the hunt. That was it. He was not there for you to lust over. He was not there to call you pet names and make you want for the past. You absolutely had to keep this simple and straight forward. No exceptions. 

Back in the room, you crept into your jacket, checked for your wallet in your pocket and stepped into your boots. You sorely needed a cup of coffee. You snuck past the sleeping Winchester and opened the front door, its squeaky complaint just low enough that you thought you were home free.

“Sneakin’ out on me, sweetheart?” John yawned from the couch, you hadn’t noticed him wake up. And his words hit you like a ton of bricks. So deep and low the familiar nickname smooth in you ears.  _Fuck that!_

“I told you not to call me that…” You snarled through gritted teeth, as much from frustration at how good it made you feel, as out of annoyance at John.

“So you get to call me whatever the fuck you want, but I have to suffer in silence?” He sounded exasperated, like this was the straw breaking the camel’s back.

“Yes! I decided it was okay for you to tag along, John,” you snapped back, slamming the door shut again. How dared he be irritated with you? “I can make you leave if you keep this shit up!”

“Then what do you want, Y/N? It hasn’t even been a full 24 hours and already you have me ready to claw at the fucking walls. You keep threatening to kick me out, so what will it be?” John shot up from the couch. He was pissed, and it took you by surprise that he’d get this worked up. “One moment you treat me like a friend and in the next it’s like you wanna tear my fucking head off! You act like you want me to throw you up against the wall and then like you want me to leave and never show my face again! I thought I could do this, but damn… It’s just too hard. There is too much here, Y/N. Just put me out of my fucking misery and tell me you want…”

The pause that followed was filled with energy. This was too hard? For John? You never thought you’d see the day. He was so thick-skinned and resilient. And now he wanted you to settle it. You had no fucking clue how. You’d alway taken pride in being tough and hard, not letting shit get in the way of business, but with John it was a completely different story. You wanted him close and you wanted him as far away as possible all at the same time. Hands longing to caress his form also itched to push him away. It was so goddamn confusing.

You weren’t ready to tell him what you wanted, that was a mystery even to you, but one thing you did know…

“Don’t leave,” your voice came out small and shaky, saying those words made you feel so weak, it made you feel vulnerable, like you might break into a million pieces at any given moment. You’d always prided yourself on your tough exterior, your hard shell, letting him see you shed it scared you. You took a deep breath, attempting to calm yourself, before you continued. “I may not ever get my shit together, John, not when it comes to you, but don’t go.”

Time passed slowly as you looked at each other. You stared at him and had to fight to keep the tears from welling in your eyes. John was struggling too,  thinking hard, those lines appearing between his gorgeous brown eyes letting up that he was just as torn as you.

“Alright, I’ll stay,” he finally muttered, and you felt like you could breath again.

And that could have been all there was to it. But you still felt like shit for not explaining.

“Thanks,” your voice was meek. “I get that it’s hard being on your side of this as well. My brain isn’t just fucking me over, it’s fucking you over as well. But I really do want you here.”

Finally, he smiled at you, his chin, which could have been sculpted of marble, danced up with his curling lip. You felt relieved having shown him your hand and that both yours and John’s anger was relieved.

“Can I have a hug now? I need a hug, John…” You smiled, your voice still small and threatening to break.

He wasn’t hard to beg and wrapped you up in his arms without a word. His big, strong form embracing you, cocooning you with each breath and heave of his firm chest. You took a deep breath sucking in the smell of him, the unadorned and unreplicatable scent of John. His personal musk, tarnished with leather and gun oil. He smelled of happier days, and more exciting nights.

You pulled away a little, John’s hands still securely placed on your back, finger tips absentmindedly pulling you tighter, closer. You looked up at him towering above you, before you pushed yourself up on your toes and pecked him on the lips. You lingered there for a few seconds, closing your eyes. He kissed back, clutching at the back of your jacket, before he broke the kiss.

“You sure about this, Y/N?” His voice rumbled, his brow perplexed and furrowed.

You had no idea how to answer that truthfully. You weren’t sure about anything.

“Just kiss me, John,” you breathed, your eyes pleading up at him.

In two seconds flat, his thick fingers fell from your jacket and were tangled in your soft hair urging your face closer as his lips crashed into yours. You surrendered to the pleasure, to the thrill of once again being under John’s delicious spell, to hell with the past. You just wanted to live for now for once, not plan three steps ahead, not think of the consequences.

Your tongue danced eagerly with his. His kiss was so in sync with yours, like you melted into an old dance. One of the upsides to rekindling an old flame, no doubt.

You clutched at his back, your dainty fingers wanting the t-shirt off his back and discarded on the floor, in fact you wanted every piece of clothing either of you was wearing off. You decided to go for it, you pulled at the hem of his t-shirt, and John caught on to your plan in a flash. He broke from the kiss and proceeded to tear it off his body, revealing those tattooed arms and chest you knew and loved. You followed and quickly discarded your jacket, flannel, and jeans. Another desperate kiss with both of you clad in nothing but your underwear and you pulled him over to the bed with you by the hand.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you lay down on your back and took him in with heavy lidded eyes. John crawled up the bed after you, hungry eyes drinking in every inch of your body as he went. Once he was levelled with you, he took your head in his hands again and landed another deep kiss on your lips, like he was making up for all those lost opportunities.

“You’re a hundred percent sure?” He growled, his eyes gone dark with lust, clearly only barely able to contain his desire for you.

“Just shut up and fuck me, John. Like you used to…” You whimpered, the anticipation sending your pulse into high gear. You knew those last four words would unleash the beast in him, and you were ready to be his prey. You craved having him claim you again.

With another short kiss on your swollen lips, he slid a hand down the front of your body, passed your belly and dipped it into the sheer fabric of your panties. Slipping between your already damp folds, he found that bundle of nerves, aching for his touch. He massaged it softly as he kept kissing you, making you moan into him.

“So wet for me already…” He mumbled into your kiss, before he broke from your lips and bit down at your ear.

“Oh, John…” Was all you managed to reply before he pushed harder on your clit, making you gasp in pleasure.

“I’m gonna taste you now, baby,” John growled into you ear, sending vibrations through you.

You nodded and bit your bottom lip as he made his way down your body, peppering your torso with kisses, his salt and pepper beard softly scratching you in the process, making goosebumps spread across your frame.

As he reached his desired destination, he didn’t bother removing your panties. In his urgency to finally taste you again, he simply pushed them to the side with a rough finger and let his tongue lick a needy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. His tongue flicking over the sensitive bead made fireworks shoot through you. Whimpered moans of his name escaped your lips, riddled with the odd profanity or misuse of god’s name.

“Such a dirty mouth on you, baby,” he hummed into your dripping sex, the rumble of his voice making the vivid pleasure of his work down there ever more intense.

You clutched at the bedding beneath you as John heightened the stakes even further, sliding a long, thick digit into your wanting hole, your knuckles turning white as you clutched tighter as not to scream out, bothering the guests on the other side of those paper thin walls with your profane delight.

Killing you softly with every lick of his skilled tongue and thrust of his thick fingers, you were barely hanging on, keeping grounded, until he did the inevitable, his signature move. As you panted, beads of sweat forming on your forehead, he engulfed your clit with his sweet lips, sucking gently and with that, it was as if he was pulling the orgasm right out of you. You came undone on his hand and lips, screaming out, not able to hold it in any longer, your mind floating up in the air as a million tiny stars shot behind your eyelids. Damn, you’d missed how good oral could be. He was a master at it, making all others pale by comparison. The past year without him had been a sorry one for your libido, that was for sure.

When you came back down, John was on his knees in front of you on the bed. He had discarded his boxers while you were out of it, and now he stroked his perfect, big cock lazily was he watched you returning to earth, his eyes almost black with want. 

“Hands and knees, hun,” he commanded, his voice low and gravelly.

You did as he asked, the commanding tone in his voice making your sex twitch in expectancy of what was to follow. He took a stance behind you on the bed, and guided his cock between your soaked folds a few times, teasing at your clit. You braced yourself for his sweet intrusion as he positioned himself at your slick hole. Slowly at first, then all at once he bottomed out in you, stretching so deliciously at your tight walls. You had almost managed to forget what that monster of a cock felt like inside of you.

“God…” You whimpered as he started to move in beat with your moans.

“He ain’t here, dollface,” John barked and sped up, his thrusts making your elbows buckle and soon your face and chest were planted on the mattress, your hands gripping at the pillow in front of you.

His intrusion was relentless, fucking you deeper and harder than you’d had the pleasure of for a good year. It was as if he was releasing all the energy of your separation with his pelvis all at once. You moaned, you pleaded, you screamed, no longer giving a flying fuck if people were trying to sleep in in the adjoining rooms.

He brushed your g-spot roughly with each harsh pump, and you felt like the dam was two drops away from breaking, just one more rush on sensation and you were done. And John knew that all too well, so in tune and in sync with your body from his years of expertise. With a grunt, he drove his hand between your bodies and drew circles at your clit again and you were finished. The dam broke, sending you over the edge with the violent stream of pure pleasure and arousal. You clenched around his cock and cursed loudly, and so did John, pulling out in a hot second. He stepped of the bed, cooling down, and walked around it.

“No way I’m coming just yet, sweetheart,” he breathed, but you hardly payed him any attention. “I haven’t longed for you like this to just let it slide so easy…”

You were busy rebuilding the world around you, coming down from yet another mind shattering orgasm. You panted, your ass still in the air, your face and chest planted on the mattress. You felt so deliciously spent, such a blissful high and then, right out of nowhere, he pulled your legs out from under you and you squealed in delight, knowing full well he wasn’t done with you yet. Flat on your stomach, you arched your back a little, giving him access to your sex again. The bed creaked as he climbed atop it, and soon he was on you, sinking his member into your damp, quivering core.

He gave you absolutely no time to get used to him  as he fucked you right down into the mattress, his speed and force ravenous for the beginning. You struggled to find something to squeeze, to hold on to as your body rolled on the waves of pleasure, but John solved the problem for you. He grabbed hold of your wrists and sucked hungry kisses at your neck, adding both pain and pleasure to your sensitive skin.

“John…” you whimpered, “I can’t hold on much longer, I’m gonna come again.”

“Wait for me, baby. I wanna feel you crash around me as I come,” he demanded, and you tried to hold it off.

Spots danced behind your eyelids as you clenched your muscles around his member tight, trying not to let the pleasure go. And luckily this was helping him along. A few more thrusts and he was ready to erupt.

“Come with me, baby, “ he huffed and you were not hard to beg.

You surrendered all control to the pleasure and came crashing in on him. You felt him twitch inside of you, his big cock giving you your reward, as thick ropes of his come coated your walls, the heat feeling to amazingly welcome. John rested against your back, his heaviness so familiar and safe on your smaller frame. His breathing was in sync with yours as you both came down together. The two of you in unison again. Being together again. It was enough to make you emotional. You had John back, and all the doubt which had clouded your mind evaporated with that realization.

After he pulled out, he got you a towel from the bathroom and helped you clean up, before he settled beside you again.

He kissed your forehead and you smiled up at him, content and satisfied. You’d always been good together, both in the act and after. You stroked the side of his face softly, your fingers dancing across the scar resting there.

“This is new…” you cooed. “What happened?”

“Werewolf almost got the better of me,” he replied. “Scratched me up pretty badly.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t have me to look after you,” you teased.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “this vamp’s got no idea what’s coming for it. With you by my side, nothing can hurt me.”

 

“So let’s get cleaned up, John,” you sighed. “We’ve got work to do.”


	7. Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They close in on the vamp.

It felt like your relationship was back from the dead, that all your love for each other was resurrected all at once. All the things that had worked so well between you were back. You’d always been at your best when you were on a hunt, when it was you and john against the world, sleeping in motels, driving up and down the country in his truck, eating at diners and fucking like teenagers.

Every time you stopped from South Dakota and all the way through Idaho was an excuse to leave a scammed credit card at a motel and fuck each other’s brains out. And if you were being perfectly honest you seemed to find a lot more time for stopping for the night than you usually did. A drive which should have taken you no more than 13 hours lasted three whole days. You’d stop for the night early and spend hours wrapped up in each other on a bed, or on a creaky kitchenette table once or twice. You’d open your body up to John and he’d pounce on you like a savage, fucking you like he was making up for lost time. You’d leave marks on his burly frame from your nails digging into his broad back or your lips and teeth greedily trying to possess his neck and throat. His marks on you were more focused, more predictable, from where his his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips or back as he fucked you into oblivion.

The selfish lust and want blossoming between you indeed had the urgency of young teenage lovers. There was a sense of “if we don’t do this now, we might miss our chance”, and you had to admit to yourself that, in a way, that was what you feared. What if it ended again? What if he left? You had to make the best of this hunt. Of these days and nights with John.

The moment. That was all you could be absolutely sure you had.

***

You followed the vamp’s trail through Idaho all the way to the small town of Chewelah in Washington state. Once you’d figured out where it was held up, you had to plan your next move thoroughly. You suggested, of course, that you’d be bait. You knew the vamp usually targeted young women. That was how the last hunter he killed had drawn his attention. John, needless to say, did not like your idea one bit. He had claimed it too dangerous, but you had argued that this job was always dangerous, and you’d both known that going in.

“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you, sweetheart,” John seemed upset, he stared at you with such intensity it almost left you dumbfounded.

“Nothing’s gonna happen, John,” you took a step closer to him and grabbed hold of his hand, you kissed it before you continued, “I got you to watch over me, right?”

“Right…” John sighed and looked down at you, he didn’t sound convinced, but he had to let you do your thing. You were equals in this, that was the deal going in and he knew it.

“If you keep close it’ll be fine, besides, I know what I’m doing.”

John looked you over for a while, as if he was trying to call a bluff, but you kept your face straight. You wanted to do this, and he knew full well you were a damn good hunter in your own right. Giving up, he closed the small remaining gap between your bodies and held you tight. He kissed your head and breathed you in. ****

“Don’t do anything dangerous. Don’t get in a car. Don’t let me lose track of you.” His voice was nearly a whisper.

“I won’t.” You smiled into his neck, drinking in the unadorned smell of him.

“Then let’s go get our hands dirty,” he sighed and you hummed against him.

***

It was going well. Very well. The son of a bitch had taken the bait the moment you walked in the bar, your neck exposed, your hair secured in a bouncy ponytail. You had made sure to get your pulse going before you sat down next to him, thinking of a particularly great move of John’s in bed, which left your jugular veins pumping hard and fast. He wasn’t a bad looking fella. You could see why he hadn’t starved. He probably had no trouble at all getting girls to go home with him with his strong jaw, handsome blue eyes and broad frame. He looked you neck over like a hungry animal, which he kinda was you figured, and offered you a drink before a single minute had passed. You sipped your whiskey nice and slowly, almost seductively, and his icy gaze scanned your body as if he was trying to see past your tank top, shirt and tight jeans.

When John had made his way in through the door you were already in deep conversation with him. You’d learned his name was Clearence and that he was from Georgia and preferred women with Y/H/C hair. Of course he did… You didn’t buy his lines for a second, but you had to pretend. Only half an hour later you’d suggested he take you outside for some air and he’d been more than willing. He offered you a smoke and you took it.

“So wanna see my motel room?” He cooed at you.

 _Don’t get in a car._ John’s words sounded in your head.

“Where is it?” You purred, your eyelids heavy in mock lust.

“Just down the road, I got a car.”

You had your machete in your bag. You’d be fine. John was sure to step out at any given moment and follow you.

You walked slowly to the car, letting him take hold of your hand and lead you. And sure enough John walked out and saw you.

He wasn’t gonna be happy about this, but you’d get the job done.

You made sure John followed. And still it was going well. Well, until John had to let another car intersect.

_Don’t let me lose track of you._

You lost sight of him. But tried to keep your cool, you didn’t want Clearence to catch on to your increasing heart rate. It was fine. You were gonna be fine.

You hoped to God John would see the car driving as he drove past. You stepped out and followed Clearence to his room. He would see the car. He was smart and more than that he wanted you safe.

As soon as the door was closed behind you, he was on you. He kissed you and pushed you up against the wall. He was strong. Stronger than you’d feared. The hunger of his kiss scary, as opposed to John’s. He moved to your ear, before he inevitably found your jugular vein. He licked it, slowly teasing his tongue against its pulsating length, and you knew you could wait for John no longer. This bastard was seconds away from draining you.

You shoved him hard and fast and fumbled for the machete in your bag. He was baffled for a moment before he saw it and it dawned on him why you’d been so damn easy to persuade. Raging, fuming, he screamed out. You tried lunging and swinging, but he was too fast. He jumped back and then he managed to break the leg of one of the chairs. You turned to run. To get the hell outa there.

You didn’t wanna go like her.

 _Fuck!_ You met nothing but the wall. You turned to look for a way to escape, but you were cornered. How the had you let that happen?! John was gonna be pissed… Not only had you got in a car with the asshole and let him lose track of you, but you’d let yourself get cornered. You managed to fumble around for a syringe of dead man’s blood, and just as he poked you with the leg you shot him up. He screamed and so did you. Both of you raging through the sudden pain.

In two seconds flat he bolted out the door before the blood took too much of a hold on him, red footsteps leaving a trail behind him.

Why were there red footsteps? You were sure you weren’t hurt enough to bleed like that.

You slid your hand down your body.

Warm, wet.

You looked at it. Blood. And it didn’t seem to be stopping.

You fell to your knees on the linoleum floor. This was bad, you felt yourself grow woozy.

So this was how you were going to die. _Well fuck…_

Where was he? You needed him…

A sigh of relief exited your lips as you heard the familiar sound of his truck pull up outside, then the door slamming and heavy boots running on the gravel towards you.

At least you’d get to see him.

He panted, knelt down beside you. When had you fallen all the way down?

“Y/N?” He screamed. 

You struggled to keep your eyes open. 

“Sweetheart…” His voice was shaky now, but still it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

At least that could be the last thing you heard…


	8. Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John waits for reader to wake up.

John paced the floor of the small, white room. It was hard for him to draw air. It was hard for him to see straight. And it was damn right impossible for him to sit still. Three days and four hours. She’d been out for three days and four hours. He almost hadn’t eaten. He had barely slept at all. Yet, he couldn’t sit still. Fucking stupid that was what he was.

_“With you by my side, nothing can hurt me.”_

That might have been true enough, but with John by her side, how could she not be? He wasn’t the one stretched out on a hospital bed with wires poking out of him. All he was was a walking trainwreck. He was a bad luck charm, like that fucking rabbitsfoot he had locked up. Everything he touched went to shit. Everyone he loved eventually wound up dead, or fucking close to it anyways. His dad had disappeared. He had seen so many good men die in war. He had seen Mary… No. He couldn’t go through this again and come back out on the other side. Back then he had to fight to make it. It had been hard as hell, but he’d made it somehow. He had two kids to look after back then, but now… Sam and Dean could manage. If he had to go through this again, there would be nothing to stop him from falling of the fucking edge of the earth.

_If you love something let it go._

He had tried. He had tried so hard to let her go, and he felt his reasons were more than justified. If she hated him for leaving, he’d decided he could live with that. From the moment he had learned about Adam he had known he had to let her go. He had never planned on fathering another child. He had never planned on having someone else depend on him after Dean and Sam. So then, after Adam came into his life, he felt so damned guilty. He had been with Kate for only a few days and still managed to turn her life upside down. He had had to keep them separate from all this, keep them out of danger, he had known that the moment he learned about the boy’s existence. And he had to cut Y/N loose. She deserved to be free and live her own life without the disaster which was him. She was so young and had a shot at a normal life. He had gotten too attached, she had gotten too attached. What if he managed to knock her up? What if he managed to get her killed?

What if she died. Right here in this room. After making the mistake of letting him back in her life…

The truth was the past year without her had been hard. Adam was a fresh of breath air in his life in those moments when he forgot about the guilt and just focused on spending time with the boy, but that had been the one good thing for him. Sam had left, and John had spent so much time on the road checking up on him, keeping sure he was safe. And Dean had been different since Sam left. John couldn’t blame him, he had been different too, but this hurt and sad side of Dean had been hard to watch. He had let Dean go on more and more hunts alone, he had taken to the bottle more, he had been lonely. And loneliness leads to selfishness…

Selfish. He had been so damned selfish. She deserved better, and yet he had listened to all those stupid thoughts which had interfered with his sensible side the moment he saw her again. He had listened to the voice in his head telling him it would be fine. The singsong voice in his head which reminded him of how good it felt to hold her, to touch her and be with her. A hug was fine, right? What was the worst that could happen? She’d smelled so good; being close to her brought with it the familiar smell of lilac and elderflower, mixing strangely well with the whiskey she drank and the leather seats of her car. Most women couldn’t pull that off, but she sure as hell did. She’d always been a little badass. He’d known she was one to take seriously from the moment he’d met her. She was so young, but had no trouble what so ever with carrying her weight in a fight. It would be harmless having a drink with her, right? It would be harmless taking care of one last monster together.

Harmless… Like hell it was. If things had only been a little different, if one of them had done it alone maybe she wouldn’t have taken the risk. If she hadn’t counted on him to have her back but she had counted on him, and now she was dying. How had he thought any of this would turn out alright? After no more than a day spent with her he had gotten so frustrated at the longing and the conflicting emotions running amok in his mind that he’d lost his temper with her. He had let his frustration get the better of him. He had let her little comments and the way he felt like he was being pulled towards her by some mysterious gravitational force make him snap. If he hadn’t done that she might not have caved and let her defenses down. She might not have kissed him. She might not have gone to bed with him. And maybe then she hadn’t counted so much on him having her back. Maybe she wouldn’t be hanging on to life by a fucking string.

 _No._ He couldn’t think like that. She wasn’t dying. He wouldn’t let her. He’d fucking give his own life to save hers. If there was any chance in hell he could save her he’d do anything…


	9. Part 9

The light stung your eyes as you slowly tried to open them. It was like white, bright torture to your retinas. And when did you swallow cotton? You tried licking your lips, but it was no use. The sore, tight pain of your neck was letting you on to the fact that your had been laying still for far too long, but as you tried shifting around on the bed the stinging pain in your abdomen instantly punished you for even trying.

Where the hell were you?

The soft beeping of the machine to your right filled you in, as did the wires attached to your body. Of course, the vamp… It all started coming back to you; your foolishness, his strength, John’s scream of despair, the pain in his gorgeous eyes as he found you.

You looked over to your side, forcing your stiff as hell neck to comply, and saw him sleeping in a semi comfy chair next to your bed, through the window behind him you could see the sun shining outside. You’d seen him in some pretty rough states before, but never had he looked quite like this. You were sure you didn’t exactly look like the belle of the ball yourself, but he looked tired and worn. Even in his light sleep, his forehead was riddled with worry lines. He looked like he belonged in this bed just as much as you did.

You felt like shit for reducing him to this, for scaring him half to death and getting hurt. The guilt stung almost as much as the wound in your abdomen.

“John?” You asked, your voice dry and weak.

He instantly shifted in the chair and woke. In no time at all he was out of the chair and at your side, letting a big strong hand caress the side of your face. With his touch you felt the pain lessen. You focused all your senses to his hand, feeling the callouses of his fingers and the smell of him.

“I was afraid I’d never see those gorgeous eyes again, baby,” his voice was barely a whisper, and the worry of his tone crashed through you like a wave of guilt.

“John,” you fought at holding back the tears, “I’m so sorry…”

You took a deep breath, your stitches tightening painfully in the process, as you could no longer stop the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Sweetheart, no… Don’t cry.” John leaned down and kissed your forehead, and you could see his eyes were glassy as well. “Don’t worry about it. You have no idea how good it s to hear your voice.”

“I just… I can’t believe I did that.” You sobbed and he squeezed your hand.

“Don’t, honey.”

“But, he got away, John…” What if your stupid ass decisions made him rush outa there and kill someone else?

“Don’t you worry yourself with that, I’m gonna get him.” John kissed your forehead again before he continued, “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch and he is gonna regret the day he was fucking born. Don’t you doubt that.”

“I’m in…” You croaked, trying to lift yourself a little on the bed.

“No, you just focus on getting better.”

“You can just forget of going after that thing without me John… It was no regular vamp, he was worse, stronger I guess…” You pleaded, trying to not sound as resolute as you felt. There was no way in hell he was going after that thing alone.

John kept his gaze fixed at you, weighing your words in his mind. He was a stubborn man, but he knew you were just as hard headed!

“Fine,” he sighed, “but then we gotta wait ‘til you’re good as new, sweetheart.”

“How long was I out?” You pried your eyes away from John and looked at the wall clock above the door, which of course told you nothing about the date.

“Nearly a week,” he replied, his voice slightly shaking.

“I promise never to be gone for that long ever again, John,” you smiled at him.

“You better not,” he smiled back before he leaned down and placed a longing kiss on your chapped lips, adding some much needed moisture.

***

You had been told by the nurses numerous times that you were lucky to alive, and that it was all due to John’s quick thinking. He’d known exactly what to do and had rushed you to the nearest hospital as soon has you’d passed out. You did as he ordered and focused on getting better, and it took its sweet time. You hadn’t been released from the hospital before another week and a half had passed with you nagging about it and claiming your pain was manageable. You just wanted to be back on the road and alone with your man already. Since your wound was healing nicely enough and you had someone to help you out, you had been allowed to leave with a prescription for antibiotics and some strong pain killers. And then you were finally back where you belonged, in the passenger seat of John’s truck with him humming along to the music next to you.

“We won’t go far tonight, sweetheart,” he smiled over at you. “You need your rest.”

“I’m fine, John,” you chuckled. “You don’t have to worry anymore. I’ll be wielding a machete again in no time.”

“You still need your rest until you’re properly healed, doctor’s orders,” he winked over at you and you let out a snorted laugh, he could be such a dork.

“But all joking aside, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, doll face,” he looked down at his hands on the steering wheel for a moment, “but I wanted to wait until you felt strong enough.”

“What?” You asked and felt your stomach turn in knots, your pulse rose, was this it? Was he gonna cut you loose for being a moron?

“You deserve to know why I left. And I won’t blame you if you never wanna see my face again after I come clean…”


	10. Part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes clean.

He’d pulled up to a diner, and sat you both down by a table. You’d had to try your very hardest not to freak out. You knew it would be a real, scary, serious talk when he’d refused to talk while he was behind the wheel. You were almost sure this was it. That it was over and you’d have to go back to your Winchester-less existence.

But no. That hadn’t been it.

Not at all.

A third son.

John had a third son. He had left you to go be a father. He had left from guilt and crushing responsibility. He had wanted to spare you from it, he had wanted to not accidentally make a fourth with you.

“I just couldn’t stay,” he shook his head a little as he said it, “I needed to process it. I needed time to get to know the kid. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, but I didn’t feel like there was any other way to go about it, you know?”

“Why didn’t you tell me, John?” You tried your very hardest to hide the hurt you were feeling.

“Part of me knew you’d be supportive and want to go with me, and I needed to do it alone, to work through it alone. And honestly,” John looked down at the floor, “part of me was ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” You felt the word around in your mouth.

“Ashamed,” he repeated, “that I was so careless, that I knocked her up, even though it was half a lifetime ago.”

You couldn’t blame him. It was just that sort of thing John would beat himself up about. And you got that he needed to work through it alone. And he was right; if he’d told you, you would definitely have made him let you stay. You didn’t care if he made a mistake twelve years ago and fathered another child. How could another Winchester be a bad thing?

“So, how is he?” You urged, curious as hell about this unknown Winchester.

“He’s great. So great. Smart and willful, like Sam and Dean.” John said, proud smile hitting his lips.

Right, Sam and Dean…

“Do they know?” You tried cautiously raising the subject.

“No,” John swallowed hard, “I know I should, I know I owe it to them to tell them they have a brother, but I just need to keep Adam separate from all of this.”

“Adam…” You repeated, savouring the name, “Adam Winchester.”

“Milligan,” John corrected, “at least he’s lucky enough not to be cursed with this name.”

“It’s a great name, John.” You smiled. “Winchester’s are great people.”

He smiled back over at you. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Hell if I know,” you smirked over at him, “I’m pretty darn great, right?”

“The best.” He chuckled heartedly.

“Now, let’s get some food.” You winked. “I got big plans for tonight.”

“Oh no you don’t,” he chuckled, “you need to take it easy.”

“Relax old man,” you teased, “we’ll be careful, even though that isn’t nearly as much fun.”

***

You travelled a few hours north, wanting to draw in on the border before settling in for the night. You had gotten some good intel about the vamp having been spotted in Canada. The roads were treating you well, few cars and a nice, clear night sky. The stars shone bright and you leaned as close to the window as you could, peering up at them. You had a good feeling about this. The worst had to be behind you.

You checked into a little motel right next to the highway and flung your arms around John the minute the door was closed behind you. It felt amazing to be out of the hospital and finally able to spend some quality time with your man. Finally it was the two of you and a decent double bed.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” John smiled down at you and kissed your forehead, “gotta be careful so you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you pouted back up at him, “I’ll be careful, I just really wanna be with you… I missed this.”

“I did too,” he smiled warmly at you, before taking your hand and walking you over to the bed, “so why won’t you let me take care of you, princess.”

He lay you down on the bed so softly you started to wonder if he actually thought you’d shatter under his touch. If it wasn’t so darned sweet and cute, you might have teased him about it. Once you lay comfortably, he helped you get undressed, gently and slowly; peeling the clothes off your body and inch at the time, taking great care not to touch the injury. Once you were naked, he kissed his way down from your neck to your belly, taking his sweet time with your alredy oerky nippels, making you respond in breathy moans. You felt like all people had done at the hospital was touch you and try to make you comfortable, and yet it felt like you hadn’t felt anyone’s touch in a thousand years.

He journeyed further down, passing the cute curls of your sex and spreading your lips, before his tongue found your clit. He licked it lightly, knowing how sensitive you were from the period of involuntary abstinence. He teased all those nerves alive with his tongue, like he was teaching you how to feel good all over again. And your body responded so well to him; you felt it build nice and slow, feeling your nethers come alive with excitement.

He kept right on teasing you with his tongue, almost bringing you to climax time and time again, before stopping up. You whimpered at him to let you come, but he wouldn’t have it, claiming this would make you come hard enough to make up for those weeks of missed opportunities. After a while you lost count of how many times he had robbed you of your climax, but every time you felt it a little stronger.

“John, please,” you whined, “just let me come. It’s so good, but I need it. I need it now…”

“Fine, princess,” he said, momentarily stopping his sweet torture of your senses, “it’s about time you got some rest anyways.”

You hummed in approval as he started up again, a little bit harder and faster this time. You felt it build quickly, white-knuckled fingers clutching at the bedding beneath you. He built up his speed and force and just as you were about to come, stuck one long finger into you and pressed gently upwards, adding pressure to your g-spot. Your chest rose and you felt the pleasure erupt between your legs. He kept right on pressing your g–spot as you rolled through your orgasm, making it so much more intense. It washed over you, and he was right, the bitter sweet cruelty he had inflicted on your clit payed off. You didn’t think you’d ever come that hard from oral. Ever.

“Let me repay the favour, John,” you purred when you’d come back down to earth.

“No chance, sweetheart,” John said matter of factly as he got up and started undressing, “the only thing you’re gonna do now is sleep.”

“But John… You made me feel so good.”

“Tough shit,” he said as you both crept under the covers, “you need your rest. When you are all better you bet I’m gonna take you up on that, fuck you so hard you can barely walk, but for now you’re gonna rest.”

“Fuck!” You exclaimed, “Why you gotta say sexy shit like that and make me go to sleep?”

John merely chuckled at your response before he urged you to put your head on his chest and settle down. Worst thing was he was right. The moment the lights were out you felt how tired you were and fell asleep on his chest in record time.

***

The woods were cold and damp. Up in the sky you could see the full moon was partially cloaked in heavy clouds yet it shone its cold light illuminating the damp forest grounds. Would it rain? You closed your eyes and tried to analyze the pressure in the air. Maybe, maybe not… The air was very humid, you felt sticky from it. A cold would definitely be the outcome of this nighttime walk. Why had you left the motel room in the first place? How could you ever have thought that was a good idea? And where were you anyways? Looking around, all you could see were heavy fir trees. You had walked through a million forests on your hunts, but did not get a feeling that you had been in this particular spot before. Again, you closed your eyes to use your remaining senses, you listened intently to the woods. It was quiet and tranquil, no animals, no birds, no nothing. Peculiar.

You started walking, without really knowing where you were going. Which way was north? You had no clue, you couldn’t get a feel of the area and the stars you had learned to use for navigation all looked unfamiliar and out of place. After walking for a few minutes, you listened to your instincts and took a path. The path would get you where you needed to go. You got the feeling you were heading deeper into the woods, further away from the light of civilization. This was okay though, you had a feeling that there was not much waiting for you back where you came from. The silence of the woods seemed to swallow you whole. No rustling of leaves, no twigs breaking, no woodland creatures going about their nocturnal lives.

The path led you to a small clearing. There was something there. In the middle of the small ring of trees. You squinted. The moonlight was not as bright anymore. You took a step forward, still not close enough. Another, and then two more. You smelled it before you really saw it; the sweet odor of decaying flesh. You were standing next to the large body of a dead, decaying horse. Maggots were eating at its flesh, nature on the course of taking it back. Sadness built in your chest as you looked at the majestic creature decaying on the cold ground. Time seemed to speed up as you looked at it, its decay unfolding at a supernatural speed. In the sky heavy clouds were rolling in, darkening the woods further.

A noise suddenly filled the woods. You looked around startled.

There it was again!

***

You had woken disillusioned and not sure what the hell was going on. It had of course only taken you a second to figure out where you were and that it was John’s phone which had pulled you from the dream. He was sitting on the bed talking on his phone, sleep still in the corner of his eyes.

“What do you mean, Arkansas? How the hell did he get down there so fast from Canada?” You faintly heard Bobby’s voice on the other end.

“Yeah, yeah, the dead travel fast…” John groaned into the phone, “Well, I guess we’re headin’ to Arkansas then. Thanks, Bobby.”

He hung up and your heart sank in your chest. You felt yourself getting sick to your stomach. How could he know? There was just no way…

“Sweetheart? You’re pale, what’s the -” John stopped himself mid-sentence. “Oh, shit… I’m sorry, babe. It slipped my mind…” And you couldn’t blame him. If there was one thing you didn’t want to talk about, ever, it was that.

“You don’t think…” you started, your voice feeble and weak, you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence.

“No, no, don’t go there sweetheart.” He crawled back in next to you. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

Your home state. There was just no way the bastard would know, right?

“Did Bobby say where in Arkansas?” You asked, your eyes threatening to water.

“No, he was gonna keep his ear to the ground though.”

“I’ll call, ask if dad has heard anything. He might have hung it up, but there’s just no way a thing like that rolls into the state and he doesn’t know about it.”

“Are you okay with that?” John looked at you with concern. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“The day I left.” You swallowed hard, just thinking about it still making you wanna cry. “But none of that matters now, I still need to do this…”

You picked up your phone and started dialing. Even though it had been so long, the number was still locked in your muscle memory. As was hers, you were sure, if you were ever to try dialing it… You waited for him to pick up, still not sure what you’d say. It rung for a while and you almost started to hope he wouldn’t answer.


	11. Part 11

Two beeps of the dial tone and a soft click. Your heart raced in your chest, but you tried your best to hide it from John. You knew he’d understand and be supportive, but nevertheless you needed to keep your emotions at bay to avoid turning into a stuttering, weepy mess.

“Tom here,” his tone was businesslike, cold.

The sound of your father’s voice stung, of course, bringing you right back to the last time you’d heard it; his call of your name, equal parts annoyed and distressed, a tinge of sadness. You pushed on, hoping to avoid any sappiness. 

“It’s, Y/N,” you said, every bit as businesslike as your father. A glance to the side let you on to John’s eyes watching you intently.

“Y/N? Are you in trouble?” Your father sounded puzzled, clearly you were the last person he expected to hear from. And you couldn’t blame him, you hadn’t picked up the phone to call him for nearly three years.

John searched your face for a response to your father’s words, but  you doubted he could find one. It wasn’t that you didn’t have one, you were just immensely good at hiding your emotions.

“No. I’m huntin’ a vamp and I just got word it rolled into Arkansas,” you started before catching yourself. “Well, we are actually, and I just wanted to know if you’d heard anything.”

“You and who would that be?” You’d known your father had kept track of you, and that he hadn’t exactly taken kindly to you being with John the first time around. “You back on the road with that son of a bitch Winchester again? Last I heard you’d gotten away from him, good riddance… He’s way too-”

This time your father’s response most definitely caused a fiery reaction. John watched you squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance and cut him off.

“Not that that’s any of your bloody business, but yes, John… again.” Your last word was mocking, mimicking your father’s tone. “I call for the first time in three years and this is what you wanna talk about? Will you just get to the point? Have you heard something or not?”

There was a long pause, he was no doubt pulling himself together as not to argue, you’d inherited your stubbornness and temper from somewhere.

“Well, there was word about some strong as hell vamp around these parts. Haven’t gotten anything more, but his name. Clearence something. But -,” he muttered out before you cut him off again.

“Yes, Clearence!”  you exclaimed. “We’ll be down there in a few days, thinkin’ we’ll make a stop in South Dakota, gathering up some supplies from a friend, and then we’ll drive down. Well, you’ve got my number now, so call if you hear something.” You didn’t give your father much time to say his goodbyes before you hung up.

You turned to John, meeting his eyes, concern laying heavy on his handsome features. You wanted no sympathy, all you wanted was to get going. Get to Bobby’s. Get supplies. Get the monster. Get on with your fucking life. Your life far, far away from Magnolia Arkansas.

***

You drove east, then south, taking turns behind the wheel. The near 20 hour drive seemed manageable to do in one go as long as you had John by your side. Besides, you wanted to strike while the iron was hot, and sooner than you’d thought you made your way back to Bobby’s door. This time he was expecting you, of course, greeting the low rumble of John’s truck with a hot plate and a cold beer.

Dinner went its course without much said, both you and John too darned hungry to have time for smalltalk. 

“So you got a lead to go to Arkansas, huh?” Bobby glaced of at you as he served the pie. He eyes you cautiously, clearly knowing a thing or two about your origin story. He was too nice to throw it in your face.

“Yeah,” you muttered, sticking your fork in unveiling a lovely cherry filling, “we’re going down tomorrow.” You offered him no further information on your home or dad before taking a bite. It was damned good. “Didn’t know you were such a cook Bobby.” You smiled at him. 

“Thank the ladies at the diner in town for that, wife was the baker of the house.” He smiled, a hint of melancholy in the corner of his eye.

You knew how Bobby had gotten into hunting by now, John had filled you in on that few weeks back. In many ways all three of you had that in common. When someone you loved got killed by something that shouldn’t exist, let alone roam free, it was hard to turn the other cheek and move on. For you, even though you had grown up in a hunting family, it was when your mother had been ripped away that you’d taken the final step, left home and gone on the road. Or was it your father you’d left? You weren’t sure anymore whether you’d run from the memories of her coming at you from the very walls of your home, or if it was to punish him for not having been able to save her and for not letting you help.

You ate on in silence until all that was left on the table in front of you was beer. It felt good, numbing some of your nerves about crossing the stateline to Arkansas for the first time in so long. John seemed to enjoy it too, his usual worry lines fading a little with every bottle he downed.

“So what do you think this thing is, Bobby?” John said after a while, as he opened his fourth beer.

“Well, I have a hard time thinkin’ it’s just an ordinary vamp,” Bobby mused, “too strong, travels alone without a brood. Somethin’ don’t sit right.” He took nice, big gulp of his beer. “My mind has gone to some kinda hybrid.”

You almost spit out your beer as he said it. You’d never heard that one before.

“Is that even possible?”

“I’ve sure as hell never seen one,” John said, having leaned forward from his slouched back position.

 “It ain’t unheard of,” Bobby replied, his brow furrowing. “In the old world, this kinda thing is written about, but I’ve never heard or read about one in America, or one reported on after 1910 for that matter.”

 You thought it over. He had definitely been stronger than he should have, and there were no other vamps waiting for you back at his motel room ready to take part in feasting on your blood. A hybrid? Could it be true?

“So what could he be a mix of then?” You thought out loud.

 No one seemed to have a good answer to that question and the three of you drank the last few beers chitchatting about past hunts and fallen comrades, before you finally ended up in a bed with John. Bobby lent you his guest room, located just down the hall from his own, so you kept it quiet, yet not all the way clean. To not disturb the master of the house, you bit down on the pillow as John finally entered you with his cock, after all that time of bedrest and touching you as though you might break if he squeezed you too hard. Finally he was taking you the way you truly wanted him to, hands gripping you hard and holding you in place as you writhed under him from pleasure. The beer played it’s part, making you both give into the lust and sensations more freely, intoxication and want flowing between you as fuel for your motions. You came, biting the pillow hard, more than once before John was done with you and you could both drift into sleep.

***

You made it to Arkansas the next night, just in time for a nightcap at the hunters’ bar a few towns over from your hometown. You warned John that you wouldn’t stay long, your sleep was suffering from the dream, which had become a recurring nuisance. You woke up in the morning, sweaty and your heart racing, sometimes it felt like you hadn’t really slept at all. Maybe it was the lingering eerie feeling which had stuck with you all day which made you go for the hard stuff. Whiskey neat; no ice to water it down, no tonic to take the edge off.

“How many nights?” John looked at you over his drink, concern in his eyes.

 “Since we left the hospital,” you mumbled, rubbing your forehead. “Weird this is it doesn’t have the pure nightmare feel to it, it’s just creepy. And the smell is a little too real…”

 “Hopefully tonight will be better.” John grabbed your hand where it lay on the table, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

 “It will be if this whiskey has anything to say about it,” you joked back, taking a sip.

 “You always go for the hard stuff?” You froze at the familiar voice behind your back, you’d thought it was safe staying two whole towns over. Not so much. Chills ran down your spine, you were not ready for this. You always figured that when the day came to see him, you would be the one to go to him. Your eyes welled, but you forced the tears away, forced the feelings to yield. “Seem to remember a girl who would put four whole packs of sweet n’ low in her coffee before she’d even touch it. Guess you grew up.” His tone was warm despite the slight edge to his words. He’d always been a man for teasing and making harmless fun, but he had a temper on him, much like you did.

 You turned your head to look at him, pulling your hand away from John’s in the process.

 “Magnolia’s two towns over, what’re you doing here, dad?” Your voice was meeker than you’d like, but it was all due to seeing him. He looked different; older, drawn, gray. What was this feeling? Guilt or anger?

 “Only good hunters’ bar left south of Little Rock.” He swallowed hard. “I know you’re not all that happy to see me, but I sure as hell am happy to see you.” He sent you a warm smile, and you could see an edge of what he was hiding under his rough exterior.

 You didn’t know how to respond. You just stared at him blankly.

 “Have a drink with us, Tom,” John said and motioned for another whiskey for the table, causing you to snap your head over at him. Did he think this was a good idea? Cause you didn’t. Not in a million years.

 Good idea or not, your dad accepted with a firm nod and sat down. Then came the silence. Pressing and heavy, not like the relaxed drinking-silence at Bobby’s at all.

 “What are you carrying these days?” Your dad tried breaking the ice. He had never been one for smalltalk of talk of feelings, this was just like him.

 You lay your firearm on the table. In any other establishment this would of course have been a firm no, but hunters always carried.

 “She’s a real good shot,” John said, offering half a smile, though a little strained. Unlike him in so many ways, you thought. John usually cared little for talking to strangers.

 “Of course she’s a good shot,” your dad huffed back at him, his voice carrying more than a hint of disapproval of John. “Who do you think learnt her how to fire a damned gun?” He took a swig of his whiskey before he continued. “She was always a good shot. Good at huntin’ too. Picking men however… How old are you John?”

“Dad!” You smacked your palm on the tabletop, snapping out of your confusion about the situation. “Stop. Now.” You shot him a look of warning so burning hot it could melt the north pole. He was walking on thin ice already, no need to get into that.

John, of course, couldn’t keep quiet. “Nearing on fifty, bet you know that perfectly well,” John said, and you could sense the darkness in his voice. He wouldn’t keep up with this bullshit for long. “But none of that matters much. You know as well as I do that she’s special.” He took a big gulp of his whiskey, his eyes locked on your dad, almost daring him to come at him again.

He merely grunted and drank in response.

“We think it might be a hybrid,” you said after taking a deep breath, better to talk about the hunt. “You ever come across something like that?”

“Hybrid?” He thought for a moment. “Never seen one, heard of one though, back in the eighties. Killed in Texas somewhere, I could ask around and give you a call.”

 “Good,” you nodded.

 The conversation kept tense and forced, it was a strange way to meet with your dad for the first time in years, but then again you were no ordinary bunch. You talked a little about friends and family, hunts and hunters and tried to steer your father away from dangerous topics, like John; John’s age, John’s history, John’s reputation for not paying well with others. No part of you had ever dared hope they would get along, but it stung a little nevertheless, and you cursed yourself for caring at all.

 You were out of there in under an hour, telling your father you needed some sleep. He of course offered for you to stay back at the house, eyeing John suspiciously, but you said you didn’t want to drive that far. In truth there was just no way in hell you would go back there, not yet. No, motel was the way to go.

 And when you finally fell asleep, after going over the night in your mind at least a dozen times, you were once again back in the woods, following the path.


	12. Part 12

John woke from the buzzing of her phone. He must not have slept very soundly, because it didn’t make much sound at all, just the gentle buzz against the mattress between them where she’d discarded it already half asleep as they’d reached the motel. He glanced over, seeing her father’s name on the screen, flashing violently in the darkness. It was the dead of night and he really didn’t want to wake her. She’d been sleeping soundly for the first time in what seemed like forever. She deserved to sleep. She deserved to rest. Besides, for all he knew, Tom was calling to pick a fight about John, having had a few more hours to fill his courage with whiskey.

Of course, John realised that for Tom he was worth fighting about. He was unsure of how he would have taken him if it was his daughter who had taken up with a man his age. John was known to be a tad rigid and overprotective himself, he knew this.

Still a little hesitant, John weighed the phone in his hand along with his options. Was it worth it? Was it important? In fact, he still wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing when he slid his thumb across the screen to answer.

“You’ve got, John,” he said gruffly, sleep thick in his throat and picking sleep out of his eyes.

“John?” The sound of the voice on the other line slapped the remaining sleep right outa him. This was not Tom. This voice was colder, sharper. “Nice to have you, John.” Chills ran down John’s spine. “I was hoping for Y/N to be honest, but you’ll do…”

“What have you done?” John hissed through gritted teeth, it was all he could think of to say.

“Come see for yourself.” The voice on the other end snickered. “Next time I hear you asking around about me, next time your little bitch tries to kill me, you’ll die. Both of you. Stop chasing me.”

John was shaking by the time Clearence hung up the phone. Whether it was from rage or worry, he had no clue, but he was experiencing a healthy dose of both.

Ten minutes later John was in the truck, turning the key in the ignition, waking the monster of a vehicle with a mighty roar. The voice in the back of his head told him that it was sure to wake her, but he pushed it away. He had to do this, and she couldn’t come. John had no idea what horrors would meet him when he drove off into the night, but he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.

***

His gun, loaded with silver bullets, was safely clasped in his hand. He kept it steady in front of him as he slowly made his way up the driveway, his senses on high alert for any sound or movement in or outside the house.

The porch steps creaked under his boots and the a little too warm night breeze ruffled his hair softly as he laid a hand firmly against the door handle. For a brief moment he let his mind acknowledge that he was about to enter the childhood home of the women he loved for the very first time. She’d taken her first steps here, learned to talk and read and the very basics of killing the horrors which would taint her life so fully. Had it only been under profoundly different circumstances it could have been nice, made him happy. This, he was sure, would not.

He tried the handle; unlocked, not a good sign. The door made no sign as he eased it open. He listened intently to the house, but there was nothing to hear. Stepping through the hallway, with its stacks of newspapers and journals lining the walls, he still heard nothing. In the living room he had to stop for a moment. Photos of her, their frames needing a good dusting, documenting the milestones of her young life; Y/N as a newborn, her riding a bike, holding her father’s hand on her first day of school, graduation and what looked like her on her the first hunt she got to go on. Happy, proud, so full of hope. John realised this was before life kicked her in the shin and laughed at her as she fell to the ground. God, he hoped things weren’t taking a turn for the even shittier…

Something stirred on the second floor of the house, almost too softly for John to hear it. Cautiously, he made his way up the stairs, attempting to be quiet as a mouse and consequently taking whoever, or whatever, was stirring up there by surprise. The hallway lay dark around him and two doors down the sound got louder, something was hiding behind door number three, something which was growing more agitated by his proximity. John held his breath as he eased the handle down and let it open ever so slightly, sending a sliver of light right down the hallway.

It was unmistakably Tom, and yet it was unmistakably not him anymore. His head snapped towards the sound, or the smell, there was no way of knowing. John tried saying his name, in a half whisper, but it was no use. Whatever he was now, he couldn’t understand him. Two seconds later he bolted on John, jaw snapping and eyes shining sickeningly, and he had no choice. John had no choice. The thing was rabid. It sure as hell was no run of the mill vamp. Tom was no longer there, what Clearence had made was no vamp. The reason for the bastards solitude dawned on John.

John popped a silver bullet through Tom’s skull, half expecting it not to work, and he fell limp to the floor, his blood and brain staining the carpet floor of what John now realized had to be Y/N’s old bedroom, the scattered remains of the life of a teen girl all around the walls and surfaces of the room. The pang in his gut was instant. There was no coming back from this. He, the man who loved her and was loved in return, had killed her father. Whether he had had a choice or not, there was no making this right.

John’s heart climbed up to his throat at the anger, guilt and sheer frustration at the situation. What made it all worse was that he had to lug the corpse onto his truck bed. It felt like a violation, but someone could easily have heard the gunshot and called the cops and John couldn’t let them find the body. He had to find a place to burn it, give Tom a hunter’s funeral. He had to do and fast, not knowing how the body would react to being dead. Fucked up, that was what it was, fucked up and beyond any repair.

***

The drive back was long, but to John it felt way too short. The burning had been a tough ordeal and by the time he had spilled whiskey on the ground and hit the road he dreaded seeing her. Hurting her was the last thing he ever wanted to do. Would she understand? Would she ever forgive him? Would she leave? A million questions were running through his mind as he drove.

Could he forgive himself?

It was early morning when he returned to the motel. He tried to be quiet as he opened the door, but to no use. She was already up, sitting on the bed, biting her nails.

She ran over to him and flung herself into his arms holding him tight.

“Where were you? You scared me half to death, John…” she whispered into the embrace.

He savoured the moment.

Felt her body against him and pulled her sweet smell deep into his lungs.

Maybe for the last time, he thought, his eyes threatening to well.

“Where were you?” She asked again as she let him go after a long, warm embrace, alarm starting to saound in her voice at his silence.


	13. Part 13

It was all too familiar by now. The smell of decaying flesh mixed with pine trees and moss. The cold, damp air clinging to your body. Clammy hands balled in tensed fists. You felt cold, but were sweating nonetheless. You had the unnerving feeling that a storm was brewing. The heavy air made your body feel sluggish and heavy. The sight of the magnificent creature on the ground made you queasy. White maggots eating away at red flesh. It was as if you could see them grow, their tiny white bodies expanding in all directions ready to pop at any given moment, while there was less and less horse left for them to feast on. Time sped up and they ate faster and faster as dark, grey clouds rolled in. You couldn’t bear looking at it for another second. It was all too much. You turned away from it and like the flick of a switch the dream had woken you again.

It took you a few moments to come back down to earth where you lay drenched in sweat on top of the covers on a hard, squeaky bed. You were fully dressed; black jeans, college sweater and sneakers on, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. All you’d have to do was grab your jacket and bag and run out the door to the car. The room lay dark around you, but you could hear the traffic outside. Not many cars were passing the motel, but you heard the odd truck or greyhound bus. The interstate, which was the motel’s nearest neighbour, wasn’t all that busy in the middle of the night. Lucky, you thought.

Every night you woke in a different room. Every night you were drenched in sweat and panting from the dream. Every night since you had left the motel as John had finally dozed off from exhaustion. Every night since John had killed your father.

You had decided that you were done putting others in harm’s way. Not one more person you loved was going to die because of you. It was you he had a problem with, so you should be the one to end it. You had been a big ball of emotions the night you left. You had gone through them all. When you woke that night from the dream you had felt around on the bed for John, but he was nowhere to be found. It freaked you out. Would he really leave you alone without telling you? Had something happened or had he split? You were confused, pissed and scared all at the same time.

So you were relieved when you had finally heard the truck pull up outside. And there was John, sneaking like a cat through the door, a strange sight due to his 6 feet and 2 inches. You had never been happier to see another person in your life as you flung yourself into his strong arms. Finally he was back. And in one big, beautiful piece. But a sense of bewilderment put an end to your happiness. Exactly where had he been? You took a step back, afraid to hear what was about to unfold itself to you.

As John told you what had happened, his hazel eyes tearing up, you had felt nothing for a moment before rage had taken over. He had killed your father. He had acted on impulse and shot him, killed him. What if there was a cure? You had pushed and punched him and screamed in his face before you sunk to the floor sobbing. John had tried to help you up, but you had pushed him away. “YOU don’t touch me!” Just moments earlier you had been ready to jump his bones and now you wanted him as far away from you as possible. In the end, when he had finally been able to help you to bed, when he had helped you off the floor and carried you to bed. John had, of course, been reluctant to leave your side, sitting on your bed crying softly as he watched you react to the worst news you had ever gotten, but you insisted on being left alone. You had sent him to the couch with a shove, vile words pouring out of you. You lay awake until you were sure he had passed out, and quickly you had packed a bag. Being as quiet as possible you had snuck out, leaving your phone on the nightstand, before hijacking and stealing the night manager’s car.

Now five days had passed since you left. Now you were just on a mission, you had pushed your emotions aside, and they had obliged. The mission was all there was room for in your mind. And your heart. Find Clearence. Kill Clearence. Of course you didn’t really blame John for what had happened. You understood, but it was complicated. You had loved him and yet you couldn’t help how you had felt that night. You had felt like you never wanted to see him again. Now you didn’t know how you felt. You had tried crying, but not a single tear had left your eyes since you had broken down on the motel room floor that night. Every night as you lay alone in bed it was like you felt a little less. Like you grew a little colder with every mile you put between John and yourself. You were sure that if you gave it enough time you would find it hard to believe that you’d ever really cared as much as you had on the road, with him. Who knew, all those feelings might just have been a result of the intense hunt and the close quarters you had lived in, or your history. You would deal with it if you were still alive at the end of your mission. Now you needed to be alone. This was better. You, on the hunt by yourself. No John. No distractions.

You had gone to Magnolia first, hoping Clearence was still there, but of course he had moved on. Now you were driving around tracking signs of vampire activity. You had to be the one to find him. That would give you the upper hand. If he found out you were still hunting him and found you first it would no doubt be catastrophic. You got up and grabbed your gear. You might as well get moving. There was no way you would fall back asleep, and besides it was better to leave in the middle of the night unnoticed by the truckers and runaways in the rooms around yours. The fewer people that knew which direction you had gone in the less likely it would be that you got tracked down by the enemy. Or your friends for that matter. The next town you were planning on going to was five hours away. Drained bodies and suspicious animal attacks had driven you to check it out. You had driven north from Magnolia and it had taken you a few days to get to Chinook in northern Montana and in the early hours you would reach Whitefish. You had done work there in the past, a Scandinavian monster known as a Neck had lured five local women to a watery grave in Whitefish Lake, so you knew your way around town.

You drove through the night, cold air seeping in through a slightly open window, music blasting from the radio. The fresh air and loud music kept you from getting drowsy. You met no other cars on the road, you were alone in the night. You tried keeping your mind from wandering to thoughts of fear and anger by singing along to the radio. Classic rock radio all the way. Once in awhile they even played your favourite bands; Fleetwood Mac, ZZ Top, The Band, Bad Company… As the sun started rising you were singing Storms at the top of your lungs, in a make believe duet with Stevie Nicks, as you rolled into the small town. You’d go to a diner first, read some local news and drink a gallon of coffee. Try to pinpoint where any potential demons would be hiding out.

***

Placed comfortably in a booth you ordered your coffee and eggs on toast before grabbing a copy of the local paper. You started at the back of the paper. You’d always read papers from back to front for some reason. A few missing cats were printed on the back, ordinary enough you thought. Once the waitress brought your coffee over you reached for the flask, resting in the inner pocket of your shearling lined denim jacket. The flask, once belonging to your granny Jeannie, was almost empty; it held just enough whiskey to make your morning coffee Irish. You’d have to make a liquor store run after breakfast. A little whiskey was needed to get through the day, and even more was needed when it was time to turn in for the night.

You were striving for that comfortably numb feeling, never all the way drunk. Being all the way drunk would make you sloppy. You ate your eggs and toast while reading the paper. You had been right to come here it seemed. Strange deaths had been reported over the last few nights. To you they definitely looked like vamp victims, but you’d have to check them out. On your way out the door you passed a payphone. A sudden urge to check in on your dad’s answering machine hit you. It was almost creepy. You picked it up, threw a few quarters in it and dialled. There were a few messages from family and friends, asking questions, a missed dentist appointment, and then there was John. Your heart sank as his voice spoke to you through the hard, plastic handset.

 _“Hey. It’s me. I don’t know if you’ll get this. If you still check your messages. But hey, I’m obviously running out of ideas, baby.”_ A long pause followed and you could hear his breathing through the phone. Should you hang up? Part of you wanted to, but his voice was so heavy. This had not been an easy call for him to make. You stayed on the line.

 _“I need to talk to you. Listen, it’s not like I think I can explain or anything. I know I can’t, and I’m not saying I deserve your forgiveness, but I need to know you’re okay. Let someone help you Y/N. If not me, then reach out to Bobby. Hell, even call my kid, Dean. Sorry… I’m getting worked up here. I’m not angry. Well, not at you… At Clearence… At myself.”_ He stopped talking again. So many things you hadn’t let yourself feel since you’d left started making their way to the surface. Fuck. You were not about to cry at a diner! _“You left your t-shirt in the room you know. I smelled it like some kind of teenage girl. Pathetic, I know.” John scoffed. You couldn’t help smirking a little through the pain. “It’s not that I don’t get what you’re doing here. I do. Hell, I’d probably do the same. It’s just… Come back baby. I need you to come back again. I… I love you baby.”_ He hung up and tears started making their way to your eyes. You hurried into your stolen car and fought the tears. You had to get going. You had a job to do. You’d have to get some whiskey, change into a charming pantsuit and hit the morgue, not to mention you were long overdue for a shower…


	14. Part 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up to find you gone. He starts a race against time to find you. This is an insight into John's first days after the reader leaves.

He was chilly when he woke, back aching from a night on the hard motel couch. Thinking back on the events of the previous night, John was bewildered that he had been able to relax enough to fall asleep at all. He must have been beat. Beat from the journey. Beat from what had happened in Magnolia. And last, but not least: beat from what had happened with Y/N. Beat, both physically and emotionally. He had told her what had happened and she had pushed him away, screaming at him to leave her alone. He was so angry with himself. He had no doubt lost the woman he loved. He just couldn’t envision how they would get through this. Just starting with today, how should he proceed going about this very first day? He got sick to his stomach just thinking about it. 

 

He slowly turned around on the couch, looking over at the bed where she’d been sleeping, but to his horror she was not there. He sat up and realized her bag was gone, her phone was sitting on the night stand. 

 

“Y/N?” He called out, but no answer.

 

Now, the sick feeling in his gut intensified. John had to run to the bathroom, all the contents of his stomach heaving out of him. 

 

“Fuck!” John yelled and punched the hard, cold tiled wall of the bathroom. Blood trickling from his knuckles, he washed up and ran back to the room, then swiftly packed a bag. One of her t-shirts, the one she’d slept in for the past few days, was lying with a pile of his stuff. Had she left it on purpose? He wasn’t sure. He put it in the bag, not quite knowing what good it would do. He rushed out to the parking lot, he had no time to lose, he had to go after her. He figured she’d start in Magnolia. That was really all he had to go on.

 

John turned the key and sped out of the parking lot. He had no time to lose: at any moment she could get captured, or worse. As he drove away he could see the manager of the motel running out of the office waving his arms, and then giving him the finger. Fuck that, fuck him and fuck trying to pay up with a fake credit card.

 

As John drove to Magnolia he broke every speeding limit he came across. He didn’t know how many hours she had on him or where she would head once she realized it was a bust. No, time was not to be wasted. He had no way of reaching her, so his best bet was to go to motels along the highway where she’d most likely gone and find out whether anyone had seen her. John rolled into Magnolia in the middle of the day and parked his truck in Y/N’s father’s driveway. It was clear that she had been there, the door to her bedroom was open and he was pretty damned sure he had left it closed when he left. He didn’t give himself too much time to dwell on the crushing emotions he felt as he thought her standing there, seeing the stain her father’s blood had left on the carpet floor of her childhood bedroom. He had to bolt back out of the house and hit the road again.

 

He drove to diners and motels in about an hour’s radius to Magnolia, but had no luck. He didn’t really know if he’d been expecting much, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack. As night creeped in on him figured he’d start asking around at the motels staffed 24-hours, just in case she’d caught some sleep after leaving the motel in the night. A quick search told him there were three such motels close to town and when none of them could say they’d seen her, John simply checked into the last of them and got some sleep. He was long overdue for some rest and he would have to wait till morning to ask around more.

 

In the morning John got up early, hoping to catch her before she moved even further away. He had four more motels to check, and hopefully he would have made it in time. Chasing after a girl who had grown up covering her tracks would no doubt be hard if he missed her and had to figure out which way she went. The first motel he went to was no help. The old man behind the counter had not seen her, and at the second he was just as unlucky. At the third however he encountered a tired looking middle aged woman, who looked and smelled as if she had way too many cats, who had some news for him.

 

“Have you seen this girl?” John showed the woman a picture of Y/N from his phone.

 

“What are you? Her stalker? Why should I tell you a damn thing?” The woman was clearly unimpressed with him, but John felt some gratitude towards her. He supposed it was a good thing for him that she didn’t rat out her patrons to just anyone.

 

“I’m FBI,” John flashed one of his many badges, giving the lady his best menacing stare, “now please, tell me if you’ve seen her.” At once the woman seemed to become more alert.

 

“Oh, sorry agent,” she straightened her posture, “yeah, your girl’s here. Room 7, on the ground floor.” John hurried out as the woman explained that she should still be in there and asked if she was dangerous.

 

Reaching the door he tried knocking first. Once. Twice. Nothing. John tried the handle. The door creaked open, but Y/N was nowhere to be found. All that was left was a barely ruffled bed and a sole key on the nightstand. He turned to walk away and saw the woman from the front desk had followed him.

 

“She’s not there?” The woman asked looking concerned.

 

“Key’s on the nightstand,” John barked, “when d’ya see her last?”

 

“Last night, when she checked in. And I’ve seen no cars leaving this morning, and I was here at eight! She must have left before I got here.”

 

John had no time for goodbyes and quickly walked back to his truck. He was angry, so angry. How could he have let this happen? He figured she must still have been there when he came into town. He was furious, but that wouldn’t help much. There was nothing to do, but keep looking.

 

A call to Bobby explaining the situation as best he could and a liquor store run later he was back on the road. Bobby, after the initial shock, tipped him off to what seemed like a vampire related death not too far away and John was on his way to check it out. He knew it was a long shot. With all the killings going on these days there was little chance she had picked the same exact one. And sadly the odds were not in his favor. John drove like a madman to get there. If she had picked the same case he was not going to miss her again. John did his job well within five hours of rolling into town he had killed two vamps and asked around, but no Y/N was to be found. He was at a loss. It all felt useless. He felt useless. He had no idea where to go or how to get a hold of her. The only thing he could do was to go to Bobby’s, there was no way he could track her from the wrong town. He’d go to Bobby’s where he had the resources and do some research, try to reach out to every last hunter he knew and ask them to keep their eyes peeled for her, but first he needed a night to himself. He needed a night to sleep. And he needed a night to drink…

 

John checked into a roadside motel three hours out of Sioux Falls. It was a sad sight. The man who had handed him the key asked if he would like for an hour, or the whole night. John booked it for the night and ignored the passes from the hookers hanging around the parking lot. In the room he dumped his gear on the bed and threw himself down on the worn out couch. The room that lay around him felt like so many others he’d been in though the years; shaggy carpet in a color he couldn’t name, walls to match. A queen-size bed stood against the west wall, its bedspread an indelicate shade of brown. A good time to have a drink John thought to himself. He got a plastic cup from the bathroom, cracked tiles creaking under his feet as he shuffled over them. John fished the unopened bottle of Johnny from his bag. And sat back down. The first cup of whiskey went down fast and smooth. As did the second. John took a moment running a hand through his hair. He needed a shower, but didn’t care. Not tonight. He poured his third drink, taking a bit more time to wash it down this time. A text from Bobby lit up the screen of his phone, lying on the coffee table. “Are you alright?” How could he respond? Was anything alright? No. He had killed Y/N’s father and now she was broken and nowhere to be found. He was not alright. Not at all. He had to find her. He had to get in touch with her. Somehow…

 

Two drinks later John picked up the phone, but ignored Bobby’s text. His photos were what he wanted.

 

Y/N smiling.

 

Y/N working.

 

Y/N in the left behind t-shirt…

 

She was so happy in the photos, or smiling at least. He found her shirt in his bag. It was something physical. Something of hers he could hold in his hands. Some tiny piece of her. Something he could smell. It smelled of her. The sweet scent of her shampoo, a hint of gun oil. He downed the sixth drink and found her home number, filed under  _ Tom homeline _ , and pressed dial. He waited for the machine to pick up, not yet knowing what he would say when it did.

 

***

 

The next morning John woke up on the worn out couch. The room was even worse in the harsh sunlight. The whiskey bottle more than half empty on the table in front of him. Wicked hangover. When had he stopped drinking? He remembered his message to Y/N. How he had told her he smelled her shirt. How he had told her he loved her. John rested his head in his hand. He did love her, and he needed her to come back to him. He just wished he hadn’t said it over the phone on a machine he wasn’t even sure she’d check. He got up and got ready to leave.

  
  



	15. Part 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader is in Whitefish Montana hunting for Clearence.

Her body lay stiff and cold on the metal table in front of you. Her sleek, dark hair was neatly spread out around her head. Even with the blue hue of death having taken over her skin, it was clear that she had been a gorgeous girl. She was just his type, you thought. She had been home from college for the weekend, young and vivacious, her whole life ahead of her, and you had the feeling Clearence had been the one to cut it short. Your blood boiled. You had let him get away, and now both your father and this young woman was dead.

“The body’s been drained of blood, agent.” The coroner looked baffled as he stared down at the young girl on his table. “Isn’t that just the strangest thing you’ve ever heard?”

However far from the strangest thing you’d ever come across it was, you simply nodded at him in response. “And when was she found?” You asked while taking notes on your pad.

“Three days ago, in her own living room. Her parents were out of town.” There was horror in his voice. “A friend said they were at a bar together earlier that night, and when she didn’t pick up her phone the next day the friend got worried. She went to her home and found her. Imagine the horror, that girl will be scarred for life.”

“What kind of bar?” You asked professionally, filling the role of FBI agent to a T.

“Really run down place, lots of seedy characters there, but sometimes young people go there since they’re not too hard on checking ID’s.”

“Many other bars like it in town?”

“I’ll take you out tonight and show you.” He shot a smile your way. How he had the nerve to hit on you over a dead body was not as shocking to you as it should have been, it wasn’t the first time you’d been in this situation.

“Flattering, but no.” You smiled stiffly back. “I’m here to work.”

The coroner looked disappointed for a brief moment, but shook it off. “Well, in that case there’s two I’d say fit in the same category.”

“Names please,” you demanded, flipping your notebook over to a fresh page and handing it to him.

He quickly scribbled something down and handed it back. Annoyance started creeping up on you as you read it, sure enough he had written the names down, but there was also his number.

“In case you change your mind,” he said, lightheartedly.

“Thanks,” you sighed and left, feeling his eyes on your backside as you slipped through the door. Avoiding shit like this was definitely the the upside to hunting with John.

***

Having slipped out of your stiff, yet professional, pant suit and filled up your hip flask you were ready for the hunt. Finally back in your worn jeans and flannel, you picked up the only bag you had big enough to fit a machete and got going.

The first of the bars the coroner had told you about had been a bust. Closed down by the health department. Now you were staking out the second, standing in a dark corner with a whiskey in your hand, careful to get a good look at every person who stepped in the place. If this was where Clearence decided to hunt for his next meal, you were sure as hell not gonna miss him. Of course, there was no real guarantee that he was the vamp who had drained the coed, but this was what you had to go on. Patrons one through seven had been middle aged men, eight through ten young women, and eleven and twelve college aged guys. You were growing bored at this point, aching for some action, some danger.

Thirteen presented just that however. Just not in the way you had hoped. Patron number thirteen had you ducking away towards the ladies room. It wasn’t Clearence, but someone almost as bad: a colleague, a fellow hunter named Owen. For a brief moment you thought your eyes had met, and you just prayed it was brief enough for him not to have recognised you. He was no doubt in town for the hunt, but you didn’t need someone spreading it through the network that you’d been spotted in Whitefish.

Safely in the restroom, you popped the frosted window open and climbed out, you’d make it to your car and head for spot number three, where Owen was not. You were just about to unlock your stolen car when you heard footsteps in the gravel behind you, you spun around as you grasped for your blade, but you were too late. As soon as you met his icy, blue eyes he’d knocked you out, and it all turned black.

***

When you came to, it took you a good while to remember what had happened. Your body felt heavy and your head was swimming. You were tied to a chair, in a cold, dimly lit room. It seemed like you were in some sort of abandoned house; the wallpaper was peeling off the walls and the room smelled musty.

“You know, I thought I warned your guard dog what would happen if you didn’t stop, thought I sent a pretty clear message too, or did my message do your man in?” Clearence’s cold voice sounded from behind you and you tried to crane your neck around to see him, but to no use.

“Fuck you,” you spat out in the air in front of you.

“You sure are something, dollface,” he said, and you heard him making his way closer. “Resourceful, strong willed, good at your job. Not to mention how good you smell…” You heard and felt him lean in and give you a good, long sniff. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing him to stop, remembering his lips on yours a little too well. “Maybe I’ll keep you.”

“No! Never, then you’ll have to kill me first!” You said, fury thick in your voice.

“It truly is sweet how you still think you have any choice in the matter, dollface.” He cooed and let a cold finger travel up your neck, following your jugular. “Not sure if I want you to go dry, or keep you with me, for a while at least, while your still fresh and sweet.” You felt his other hand grasp your hair to keep you head in place. “Can’t wait to finally get to taste you…”

You tried to wiggle, but there was no use, his fangs were already on you and sinking into your flesh. The pain crashed through you and you screamed. You felt him sucking down your blood, and it was a feeling you could not describe. You screamed yourself hoarse, mad at yourself for giving him the satisfaction, but not being able to stop.

You grew more and more lightheaded, and just as you were felt like you would slip away again, he stopped and walked around you, finally truly facing you. “Have to pace myself, doll. Can’t risk the drain just yet,” he chuckled and wiped a drop of your blood off his chin. “Not like I can turn you if I mess it up.”

“Why?” You managed to mutter out, you might have lost, but at least you could get some answers.

“And here I thought you had me all figured out,” a grin of satisfaction grazed his face, “I am the only of my kind I’ve ever come across. Not all vampire, not all ghoul, a little of both. So when I turn someone, they lose all humanity, the brain can’t handle it. How I still function as humanly as I do, I don’t know. I’ve got all of the strengths of a ghoul, but no shape shifting and no craving for flesh, and all the curses of the vampire, without being able to make my own.” He looked at you profoundly now, and it made you sick. He couldn’t possibly take your curiosity for compassion, could he? “Guess I could have someone else turn you for me though. That way we can be undead together.”

“Never! I’d rather die! I’d rather be a walking bloodbag!” Your words came out vile and deadly, and in an instant his expression changed, to rage.

“As you wish…” He spat back at you.

And with that he was back at your neck. And this time the pain, mixed with the loss of blood and the shock, made you pass out once again. 


End file.
